Never opened myself this way
by Narcissa1
Summary: His life was forsaken the moment he was born and his mother died, believed to be dead he lives among men till the sons of Elrond meet him an bring him back to the world of the Eldar; but will he be strong enough to face the past and the people that have c
1. Default Chapter

Never opened myself this way  
  
# Some stories begin with the words "he was born" and end with the words "he died" and even though I will also begin my story with these very same words the second phrase will immediately follow the first. #  
  
A tall slender figure sat at a small table writing in a blank book. It had been years before that day that he had seen that thick journal in an expensive shop and at that moment he had decided that that book would be filled with the adventures and tragedy of his life. It was evening and he had closed his smithy for the day when he had found the book again and decided that he would star to write down the journey of his life.  
  
# I was born to a pair who was deeply in love with each other and already had two sons who had both yet to reach adulthood. While the first to births of the woman had been uncomplicated and fast this third was difficult and stretched already over many hours. Only the husband of the woman in labour and a healer were present when the child, myself, was finally born. The child was immediately handed to the father as the mother had stopped breathing as soon as her child was born. To the husband it was clear that his wife was death as the bond they shared was gone, in a fit of grief and rage he turned on his new-born child who have yet to utter his first cry and closed his hand around his small neck.  
  
I am not sure what had happened after my father killed me – for that is what he did – but I was days later found by a fisher floating in the waters of the Celduin. It was with him and his wife that I spent the first decade of my life. Carnil was the name they gave, the name of a red star as my hair is of a dark red colour – a colour that is strangely reminiscent of the life blood of the edain, the men.  
  
Years later, when first the fisher and later his wife died I regretted that I did not tell them who I really was, even though I believe that they have guessed at least part of i.  
  
The name I was born with is Legolas, son of Thranduil and Silruinel, king and queen of the realm of Mirkwood. By the grace of the Valar I was reborn as an Aratarhen, a child of the Valar after my father had killed me. To this day I am one of two Aratarhin, the other is Lord Glorfindel of the house of the Golden Flower he was send back shortly after I was born and killed.  
  
A birthmark in form of a rank of leaves marks me as a member of the royal family of Mirkwood in direct line of the throne, though I doubt that I would need it as a prove as I look exactly like my mother with the only exception that I am male. I have the same blood red hair as her as well as her dark green eyes that darken further when enraged.  
  
That is something else I never told my foster parents: my memories start with the moment I was conceived. I am able to remember how loving my father was before I was born, how much my mother wanted me and how my older brothers planned to teach me how to shoot an arrow or how to dance.  
  
All this I was robbed of the moment my mother died and my father submitted to his grief. I often wondered if it would have been better if I had died that day or if I didn't have those memories but everytime I come to the conclusion that it is better to remember my mother and my brothers. For my father I can't feel anything but contemned and hate: he killed me and damned me to a life away from my family, my kin.  
  
I had many professions over the more then three thousand years I have lived some I'm proud of but others I would like to forget. A few centuries back I worked as an assassin, killing on command of the Steward of Gondor, when he died I left Minas Tirith for a lifetime of men only coming back when his great grandson ruled and the assassin Carnil was long forgotten.  
  
Currently I'm working once again as a smith – this time a blacksmith as the current steward has no desire for fancy trinkets of any kind, though I have yet to decline if one of the nobles requests of me to create for them a jewel.  
  
Even though I have travelled most of Middle Earth I have yet to see any of the Elven Realms for fear that I might meet my father. As an elf I feel the ever growing darkness and it is for that reason I bought this book and decided to write down my life. When this book is filled I will leave Middle earth, whether it may be to Valinor or the halls of Mandos I am not sure but I know that it is unlikely that I will ever find happiness on this shores. #  
  
The elf lay down his quill and stared out of the small window in the wall. He did not know what called out to him but he had to leave his home, a small flat above his smithy and roam the streets of the city. It had been years since he had last entered one of the taverns but everything urged him to do so on that star-less night.  
  
To late he saw the two elves in the back of the tavern who had already spotted him and were waving him over for even though he had opted to wear his long hair open and covering his pointed ears he was unmistakably an elf. Grudgingly he made his way over to the two elves who had to be twins for they looked almost exactly like each other.  
  
"We didn't know that there was an other of the first born in Minas Tirith! My name is Elladan son of Elrond of Imladris and this is my brother Elrohir, with whom may we have the honour?"  
  
As Elladan spoke an image flickered in Legolas mind sending him pictures of an other set of twins, images of his companions father and uncle who had chosen the life of a mortal.  
  
"My name is Carnil, it is a joy to see others of our race here in the White city."  
  
Legolas did now miss the frown that passed over the twins face at hearing his name for even though the world of men had forgotten the assassin Carnil who roamed Middle Earth a few centuries prior in the eyes of the eldar hardly any time had passed.  
  
"May I inquire what brings elves to Minas Tirith? It has been centuries since the last one came and at that time I wasn't able to make contact with him."  
  
Yes, it had been centuries ago that an elf had come to Minas Tirith but it hadn't been so much that he was unable to meet him then that he was unwilling for it had been his brother, the second born of Thranduil and Silruinel and while these elves from Imladris had no possibility of recognising him his own brother would have immediately known who he was.  
  
"We just came to see the city our father talked so much about and it really is rather beautiful for a city of men."  
  
"That it is, but Minas Ithil was of much greater beauty then Minas Anor could ever achieve. It is sad to see the great cities of men fall as will our own when the time comes for our kind to leave this shores."  
  
Legolas noticed how much this choice of to topic disturbed the twins, for them death seemed yet to be something unknown – as it should to himself Legolas mused, he had long ago given up on bitterness at his life that was so much harder then it should have been for one born a prince. But was he really born a prince? Had not the prince been killed, murdered by his own father? Reborn had been another, Carnil, who shared only a resemblance in body with the dead prince.  
  
Fascinated Legolas watched as the twins communicated with glances and slight movements of their heads and hands what would have meant nothing to an untrained eye but to Carnil the elf and assassin a whole conversation unfolded before his eyes, one he only partly understood. At last Elrohir turned to him after only seconds of glancing at his brother:  
  
"We are heading home in four days and would like for you to accompany us, adar always welcomes guests and if you have been living so long among men you might want to stay among our kind for a while..."  
  
Elrohirs invitation had taken Legolas momentarily of guard but he had no other choice than accepting it, as his presence was now known to two elves and he could be sure that they would tell others. Even if they would not connect him with the royal house of Mirkwood they would still be able to recognise him as the assassin, something he dreaded almost the same.  
  
It were for that reasons that four days later three elves left the White city of Gondor to travel to the Last Homely House even though Legolas knew that in coming with the twins he ensured that his identity would be discovered. What does it matter though he asked himself, I have long ago given up on my life, so why should I not leave this world ensuring that my father is known for what he truly is?  
  
They reached the hidden valley of Imladris on their and were met at the gates by the Lord and Lady of Imladris, welcoming their returning sons and guest. Even though Legolas had seen the valley often in his dreams and visions he was fascinated by its beauty but a small part told him, that his own home was equally beautiful and that if he would have been allowed to grew up and live there he would prefer it to Imladris.  
  
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	2. Mount Orodruin

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Never opened myself this way 2  
  
# I am sure, that Elrond recognised me the moment we rode through the gates two days ago, his eyes lit up in recognition as he saw my face and hair though he has yet to approach me.  
  
But at the moment that is of no concern for me as he does not seem to want to act upon his knowledge. For now I will continue with the story of my life as I sat out to do.  
  
I left the fisher hut after the death of my foster-parents and set out to explore Middle Earth; to that time Sauron was already sweeping the lands with darkness though the lands of Rhûn were still largely free from his will as nearly no men or elf lived that far east and those men that lived there were already in his service.  
  
Many years I spent in Rhûn, living undisturbed at the shores of the sea of Rhûn in a small forest till it was invaded b Orcs. At first I travelled further east, only to discover that there would be no chance of survival in the flat land as it was already overflowing with Orcs and a lone elf without any others weapons then a small hunting knife and bow would soon find his end.  
  
It was with this fear to die as was barely over a century of age that I started to travel west and slightly to the south in the hope to reach Gondor. Was it fate that let my path be crossed with a large Elven army that marched to Mordor? I will never know but I am thankful that I did not pass the army from Eryn Lasgalen before we were already in Mordor.  
  
At the slopes of Mount Orodruin I saw for the first time with my own eyes my Grandfather Oropher.  
  
He was the only one that knew that I was alive.  
  
He caught me unaware as he followed me the evening before the battle in which he lost his life. I had left the camp, unaccustomed to be surrounded by such a mass of people and was startled when all of sudden a voice called my name, the name I was given before I was born.  
  
My first instinct had been to run but in the few seconds I had hesitated hearing the name that no one had used since my birth my grandfather had been at my side and held my shoulder in a strong grip. It was with loathing and hate that I answered his questions of my whereabouts and how it was possible for me to be even alive.  
  
Apparently Thranduil had told that I had died immediately after being born without even drawing my first breath, no one had been there to speak against him as the only other elf present had been to concerned about trying to revive my mother to see the vile actions of my father.  
  
The only prove I could offer the king were the five marks and the back of my neck where the nails of my fathers fingers had broken my flesh and the royal birth- mark at the small of my back. We talked till the sun rose and he had to go back to his troops, though before he left me he gifted me two of his possessions. A ring with the royal seal and a delicate necklace with a the seal of his house entwined with a small green leaf.  
  
It was the only time that I spoke with someone of my family, for later that day my Grandfather fell at the hand of an Orc. Years later when I had already made myself a home in Gondor I learned in a vision that my Grandfather told my father before the battle that one day he would meet an elf who bore his insignia and that he should honour him as his king.  
  
I still remember how my Grandfather was slain, how so many were slain, elf and men alike and I fear that once more the darkness is returning. It was at the slopes of mount Orodruin, mount Doom, that I first killed anything larger then a deer, an other being that was able to talk, to have a family... it doesn't matter that it were "just" Orcs. When I first came to Osgiliath I wasn't able to think of anything else and only the thought that I had avenged the life of my Grandfather and had been able to save the life of many others prevented that I ended my life.  
  
It was in Osgiliath were I first started to work as a smith, a blacksmith at first till I later discovered the ability to create jewels and found that while dwarfs are not overly fond of elves are easily persuaded to part with Mithril if you are able to give them something of their interest in return. Till the present day it is to my believe, that every elf, more even every warrior, should at least try to craft his own sword, for it was this what the dwarfs wished as payment for their Mithril: swords forged with Elven magic that reacted to the presence of Orcs.  
  
Without these dwarf I would have most likely never discovered my love for crafting weapons as I hadn't even heard of the ability to use Elven magic in forging weapons before those dwarfs requested them – but I would also most likely never have become an assassin.  
  
How such a small desire, unimportant when I look back, could determinate my future. At the Orodruin I had seen the head-circle of Gil-Galad and had questioned an other elf what kind of material had been used in its making, it had been Mithril, dwarven silver. AS a true son of the house of Oropher I had been immediately fascinated with the metal so when I more then two decades later saw a chance to bring some of it into by possession I didn't hesitate.  
  
Was it greed that led my action or was it a curse that had been over my family since the first elves walked Arda? As it is till this day I haven't used all of that precious metal that I was given all those years ago. Some of it I have used to create delicate jewels, others to decorate weapons. I even wet so far and made myself a pair of archery gloves out of some of the Mithril, decorated the same way as those made out of leather that I usually wear.  
  
In those days I tried to do everything to achieve for myself a life like that I would have been able to lead as was my birthright as a prince. Though the after years of trying futilely to make up what I really wanted with gathering wealth I left Osgiliath after I stumbled one day over what I really desired: having a family who loved me.  
  
It was a child who showed me what I really missed when it ran to his father who had just returned from a journey, that I finally understood what I could never have. Even if by a small chance I would ever be able to be in the same room as my father or even forgive him for what he had done, I certainly would never be able to forget that my own father had killed me.  
  
The only parents I had known were well beyond the age of being able to have children of their own and were more like grandparents to me and while they gave me all their love my memories of my blood family prevented that I ever felt truly at home living with them. I was still a child – even in the reckoning of men I had barely reached early adulthood and for my own people I was still a very young child – as first my foster father and only a year later my foster mother died.  
  
For five more years I lived in the home they had provided me but felt even emptier than I had felt while they were still alive for then I truly had become alone in the world. Years later, when I had become an assassin I always wished that it would be myself on the other end of my knife, sword or arrow I used. But even though I often wished for my death I had never the heart to end the life the Valar had given me and even though I do not know the reason why they gifted me with a second chance to live I know, that they do nothing without a reason. #  
  
Wearily the elf lay the quill down, even though he had rested well the last night he felt as if he had not rested since they had left Minas Tirith. His memories never left him as it was not in the nature of elves to forget – an ability for which he envied the race of men and even the other races of Arda greatly. How he longed to forget what he forced himself to recall while writing this journal, how he longed for a night in which his sleep was not disturbed by the image of his own father murdering him, but every time he allowed his mind to rest it returned to the face of his father, contoured with hate, grief, blame and rage. Over the centuries he had learned to rest even while those memories replayed itself in his mind but still the wish remained to be able to rest without the fear of seeing them again.  
  
In the hope to distract himself he walked out onto the balcony that adjourned his rooms and surveyed the peaceful village however the peace did not last long as a vision of dread overcame him. He lost conscious just as Celebrian met his eyes and didn't hear as she called out his name in alarm or did he notice that Elladan who had been with his mother ran of to search for his father.  
  
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	3. Don't allow her to leave

Never opened myself this way 3

He had been alarmed when Elladan had stormed into his study, not even pausing to knock and had informed him that their guest Carnil had fainted without apparent reason. Elves did NOT faint! There were only three reasons that made an elf faint: mortal injury, a broken heart or a intense vision.

While he knew that the first was not the case as the other elf would have otherwise fainted much sooner, there had been no indication for the second: while their guest seemed rather subdued compared to his own children he could not be sure of the cause but doubted that it was because of a recently broken heart. This left only the third option, the one he feared most for it was the only option that left him completely helpless.

True, he himself was experienced with visions but that made the thought that someone else had also to suffer under them all the more horrifying. He KNEW that one would not faint just because of a normal vision – no, for that to happen the vision had to be horrifying! It had been a while since he had had vision that had caused himself to lose conscious, it had been shortly before Arwens birth – he would never forget the pale dead face of his only daughter.

Most elves had a small gift of foresight but in only a few it was strong enough to let them see years into the future, see events unfold that had yet to be set in motion. Even Galadriel, the Lady of the Light was not able to see more than shadows without the help of her Mirror and Nenya. The reason why Gil-Galad had given him Vilya was, that he had seen with the help of the ring that he would not survive the battle and had wanted to make sure that the ring of Air, the most powerful of the three survived. He knew, that Cirdan had given Mithrandir his ring Narya because he had seen that the Istari would need the ring at a later time, though he had never told anyone what it was that he had seen.

He had immediately recognised the "young" elf that lay unconscious on his bed. How could he forget someone who had saved his life nearly three millennia ago? There were not many elves with red hair that looked remarkable like the life blood of the edain and even fewer who also had green eyes but what erased all doubt he had had that this really was the elf who had saved him were the five small scars on the back of the elf's neck. The scars had glowed eerily like fresh blood in the red light of Mount Orodruin and even now in the light of the sun did they look fresh.

What could have caused such wounds, wounds that were still visible after nearly three thousand years? Who could have gotten close enough to the elf before him to inflict them?

Elronds eyes widened as it dawned him in what pattern the scars were arranged, hesitantly he closed his hand around the pale neck of his guest and flinched as he drew it back having his suspicion confirmed.

The five half-mooned shaped scars had definitely been caused by fingernails and the position they were in indicated, that whoever had given them to Carnil had meant to strangle him. Oh yes, he knew very well what the unconscious elf before him had done for several years but these scars had already been present when he had first seen him when he was clearly no older then one or at the most two centuries. Furthermore they were not defensive wounds, no, Carnil had been clearly the one who had been attacked – but why and by whom?

Even more puzzling was the fact that the scars were still visible after all these years, normally every scar would fade after a year at the most except they were caused by a great evil! Also these scars could have been only caused by either men, dwarfs or elves - and dwarfs were definitely not tall enough to reach the neck of an elf; but what would cause a man or worse yet an elf to strangle one of the First Born?

Before the Lord of Imladris could follow that train of thought the elf before him stirred and his eyes flew open. Only his quick reflexes saved Elrond from being attacked by his guest for as soon as Carnil had opened his eyes his hand had shot out to defend himself from the supposed attacker.

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond - I mistook you for someone else."

Was the only explanation he gave his host as he had recognised him.

Before Elrond was able to inquire about the cause of his fainting he continued in a urgent tone.

"Your wife is in grave danger, she can not leave your valley or she will fade! She must stay here, no matter what happens, she can not leave!"

Elrond had paled at the first words he heard, he would do everything for his wife and children but the one thing he could NOT do was what his guest demanded: to keep his wife from visiting her parents in Lothlorien!

His voice trembling he demanded of the other to tell him his vision to which the other hesitantly complied.

"Your wife and her guards were on their way back to Imladris when they were accosted by a band of Orcs; they were outnumbered more then six to one and while the guards were slaughtered your wife was taken and tortured.

I don't know if she will survive for there are more then one possibilities: if you were to search for her you would both be killed after she would be tortured in front of you.

If no one were to go after her, her mutilated body would be brought back to you; but if someone else than you would search for her you would see her again but she would still fade.

She CAN'T leave Imladris, no matter who will go after her she will be lost, only when she stays here will she be safe.!"

The panic in the elf's voice puzzled Elrond but he was to shocked to pay it more mind. He could not forbid his love to leave the Last Homely House but if she left her life would be forfeit. He had begun to pace without even noticing that he had stood up, hoping to find a way to save his wife but knowing that there would be none. For only the outcome of her abduction had been uncertain, not the abduction in itself, there was no way to prevent it, even if he were to lock her up in her room.

"Was that your first vision? Do you have any doubt that your visions will come true?"

His only hope was that the other had visions that were unreliable or came only partly to pass but seeing the other shake his head destroyed even this last hope.

"No, so far all the visions I have had have been fulfilled, especially those I feared. Only the outcome of this vision is uncertain: if she leaves Imladris she will die as will those who are with her. I don't know when it will be fulfilled but mostly my visions have been fulfilled within a century if not earlier."

With a defeated sight Elrond sat down on the chair next to the bed in which he had sat earlier. He could not bring it over himself to keep his wife confined to the valley but even less was he able to bear the thought of losing her. Almost absently he murmured to the elf who was still laying before him:

"I will speak with Celebrian about it - it is not for me to decided to keep her here as much as I want to keep her locked safely inside one room."

Pulling himself visible together he continued, changing the subject to something that had caught his curiosity but lay already in the past:

"When we met for the first time nearly three thousand years ago and you saved my life I noticed scars on the back of your neck - and now after all these years they are still as visible as they have been then...may I inquire who gave them to you, Carnil?"

Fascinated Elrond watched the emotions playing behind the green eyes of the other elf while his face stayed completely emotionless. Never before had he seen someone who was so in control of his emotions even for an elf, who were normally able to conceal their emotions far better then the other races of Middle Earth. As he watched the exhausted elf on the bed he marvelled where he had seen those eyes, that hair before and in his shock as he recognised the face before him one word escaped him:

"Silruinel!"


	4. What happened to you?

Never opened myself this way 4

The reaction from the other elf was startling: for a fleeting moment his face showed love and unimaginable pain before it closed completely of.

"Why do you react this strongly to the name of Mirkwoods queen?"

he questioned his young guest, not really expecting him to answer this question. Therefor he was astounded as the younger elf answered after a moment of silence:

"Her death was needless and has caused to much pain. Of all members of her family she was the last who deserved to die..."

with wonder the Lord of Imladris watched as unchecked tears streamed down the face of his sons guest. Why was he so affected by the mere mentioning of the late queens name, who could she have been to him that his face showed so much love when he heard her name? He was to young to could have known her but his actions spoke differently.

A gust of wind opened the curtains that were hanging before the wide windows and a few leaves were blown in. Was it the vision the young elf had retold him or was it the elf himself who let him loose control over Vilya that much that the wind was blowing into the room - or did his subconscious direct the ring of air in attempt to tell him something as had happened before.

Fascinated he watched as the leaves were carried much wider into the room as they should have, confirming his guess that he was unconsciously guiding the wind. One of the still green leaves landed on the pillow next to the elves head while the other leaves landed on his abdomen. What was it that his heart knew but his mind had yet to realise?

As if in defeat the exhausted younger elf closed his eyes and creased his brow for a moment before he relaxed again and opened his incredible green eyes, green as the leaves that the wind had just carried inside.

Carnil, he mused, was only the third elf he knew that had eyes of such a green, a green that darkened depending on his emotions: Silruinel and her mother, Lord Celeborns younger sister Nurgonwen who had left Middle Earth even before the beginning of the third age and the death of her only child. He had heard from Thranduils and Silruinels sons that their brother Legolas who was still born had had the same eyes as their mother and grandmother.

Suddenly he knew what his subconscious tried to tell him as it directed Vilya to blow the leaves to the young elf: the leaves told him who the elf before him really was - the youngest prince of Mirkwood.

But how could that be? Prince Legolas was said to have died during his birth, proceeding his mother to the halls of Mandos. It was his instinct that told lord Elrond that he was right, that the elf lying before him was indeed the prince that was believed dead for nearly three millennia. It had been Thranduil himself who had declared the death of his son and had ordered that he was buried together with his mother. The only other witness of the birth of the prince had shortly afterwards sailed West. When he had been resting in Imladris the only words he had spoken were to Elrond himself, declaring brokenly that the Lord would have been able to prevent the death of the prince.

All those yeas ago he had thought that the other healer had meant that he could have saved the new-born with his ability as a healer but now that he was almost sure that Carnil was really Legolas he wondered if the healer hadn't meant something else, something much more horrible.

Had Legolas after all been alive when he was born? Had he died because of a mistake the healer had made while delivering him, came the scars on his neck from this mistake?

The healer had said nothing more than that one sentence, he never answered Elronds question why he could have saved the infant while the other could not.

But even if the death of the prince was the fault of the healer, than why was he here, why was he alive? The Valar had send others back, his friend Glorfindel was prove for that, but Glorfindel had died a violent death, caused by great evil... A mistake, no matter how fatal it was, from a healer did not count as evil and was no reason for the Valar to send the dead back except they had a destiny to fulfil. There had to be an other explanation for the elf's existence - and for his scars but what?

"Who gave you the scars and spread the lies of your dead...Legolas?"

The other elf showed no surprise at being addressed by that name, only resignation. With a deep sigh he answered is host, turning his head slightly as if to see the other elf better but closed is eyes before he answered:

"When I met your sons I knew that I would be discovered, that I could no longer live in peace. Your face showed recognition the moment I entered your realm...

I should have never come here!"

Before he continued he opened his eyes, looking directly into the grey eyes of the older elf.

"Please tell no one who I am, who I was.

I will leave Imladris in the morning or even now if you wish but please tell no one what you know!"

Elrond was puzzled by the pleading of the other elf, what did he have to hide? Why did he not want to be recognised as the one he was? What could he have done that was so horrible that he had to hide who he was - or was it something others had done to him or would do to him once they found out that he was indeed still alive and had not died all those years ago?

"Why do you not want to be known for who you are, Legolas? Your supposed death was horrible for your father and your brothers, even more so as they lost the same day not only their son and brother but also their wife and mother. They would be overjoyed to see you alive and even though they would wonder where you have been for all this years they would welcome you back with open arms.

Your father nearly lost his sanity and his life when both you and your mother had died within the same hour. If not for yourself then return at least to ease your fathers pain, send him a message that you are still alive!"

A dry hollow laugh escaped the young prince, his green eyes had turned dark, darker than Elrond had thought possible and as hard as Mithril

"It is because of him that I am not at home in the Realm of Oropher. You say he nearly lost his sanity and life because of my mothers and my death? I doubt that he shed a single tear over my passing - my mothers, yes, but not my own!

No, I will not enter that cursed realm, cursed by his own king!"

Stopping for a moment in exhaustion he continued after a moment in which he had brushed the leaves that had fallen on him off:

"Lord Elrond, I am one of the Aratarhin, I remember everything that happened before my death, everything that happened since the moment I was conceived... the only span of time I am not able to recall are the moments from my death till my return to life, the burying of my dead body or how my body came to be in the Celduin after it had been buried in Mirkwood. I can recall how my spirit re-entered my body, how I was found and raised by an edain and his wife, their death and my travels first to Rhûn and later to Gondor and Harad...

Don't you think that I know the reason for my death, the reason why I never went to Mirkwood, to ease the pain you tell me my family feels?"

He stopped again and picked up one of the leaves he had discarded moments ago and twirled it between his slender graceful fingers:

"It was my mother who choose to call me Legolas, she used to talk to me whenever she was alone, telling me stories of Middle Earth, of its creation...

I still remember how her voice sounded when she sang to me, when she told me how beautiful the three Realms of the Eldar were or the cities of men and even the dwarfs.

Before you only my grandfather Oropher and one other person have ever called me by the name my mother choose for me... my foster parents named me after my red hair Carnil. It was again my mother, my foster mother this time who choose my name. She told me that the night my foster father found me Carnil had shone brighter than they had ever seen him before or after they found me.

Isn't it strange that I felt never really happy while I was living with them? Sure, I loved them but I always knew that they were not my real parents, I always remembered the reason why I was living with them and not with my blood family, I was never able to forget how it came that I could never be among my own people..."

Turning once again to Elrond he smiled thoughtfully:

"Since my death this is only the second time that I am in the company of our race, the first time was when we marched against Sauron and fought at the slopes of the Orodruin. I always sought the company of the edain, among them I could be sure to be forgotten after a few generations and be able to choose a new identity leaving everything I did not want to be remembered behind me..."

Lost in memories Legolas trailed of and left Elrond to his own thoughts. The Elven Lord was watching the young prince, wondering over and over what had been done to the prince to fear his own people.

Even though Silruinel had been the aunt of his wife he had met her only a handful of times but he still could recall her face, her figure, as if she stood before him and noticed with a sad smile that the only difference between Legolas and his mother were their gender. Not even his own twin-sons who were said to look like him did resemble him as much as the woodland prince did resemble his mother.

Both his face and body had the same structure as hers, he was only missing her feminine curves but his face had even the softness her features had had. His hair was of the same deep red colour hers had been and even equalled hers in length and had the same straightness his mothers had once had. Like his mothers before, his eyes were of the green of Arda, changing with his mood, sometimes light like new grass and sometimes as dark as the needles of a pine-tree on a star-less night, framed by lashes of the colour of his hair. From afar mother and son could have been mistaken for the same person if Silruinel had still been alive.

Had it been fate that had led his own sons into that tavern in Minas Tirith where they met the lost prince of Mirkwood? Long ago he had wanted to start a search for Carnil the assassin, after he had heard from a witness that the assassin moved with a grace only the first born possessed but before he had managed to make time for such a search the name Carnil had vanished from the records of men and only faint legends told of him, the assassin that worked for the Steward of Gondor.

"Legolas"

brought the Lord of Imladris his guest out of his thoughts,

"I will keep your secret but it would be better if you told Celebrian yourself as she will recognise you if she hasn't already... She loved her aunt dearly and you look to much like your mother as that she could not recognise you as her cousin."

A frown had settled on Legolas face as he listened to Elrond:

"Her aunt? I didn't know that Lady Celebrian was my cousin... I don't remember her from before my death... You say that my mother was her aunt?"

The frown had not left the prince face though his eyes shoved a spark of hope.

"Yes, Lord Celeborn, my wife's father, was your mothers older brother... they had been very close before and even after she had married your father. Your oldest brother, Laurenor has his eyes though he has like Galatorn the golden hair of your father and grandfather.

He was devastated by the news of his sisters and youngest nephews death and was close to sail West though shortly before he wanted to sail he changed his mind and lost some of his grief, he never mentioned why, not even to Galadriel.

Legolas, Imladris will be your home as long as you wish, you are a member of my family and even though I do not know why you will not enter Mirkwood I will not ask you for your reasons, when you want to talk about it I will be here to listen.

My sons and Arwen will not be told who you are as will no one else besides Celebrian except you decide to tell someone yourself. My dear friend Glorfindel might sense what you are but he will not question you as he knows how painful it is to remembers ones own death...

For everyone else you will be a friend o my sons and a welcome guest of my house who once saved my life!"

Elrond finished with a smile and was relieved as the younger elf returned it.

"I didn't know that Lord Glorfindel was the other Aratarhen, Namos only mentioned that just as the Valar had decided to sent someone back to Arda the second followed not even a century later...

My mother often sang of Gondolin and Lord Glorfindel, I believe that I still know his lament...

I felt someone when I entered your realm though I could not place that feeling and shrugged it of as feeling just the presence of other first born as I had also felt it when I met the army of Gil-Galad."

It was clear for Elrond that the other elf was exhausted and only out of politeness still awake; just as he wanted to allow the other elf to rest a soft knock sounded on the door and after a moment Celebrian entered.

"Our sons and Arwen are afraid that something happened to their friend - but I can see that you have survived your vision without harm!"

With a soft smile that reminded Legolas so much of his mother that he had to close his eyes Celebrian wandered over to stand behind her husband and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"By your faces I can see that you have talked of our young guest heritage, I am glad to finally meet the youngest child of my aunt Silruinel!"

With the hand that she had not placed on her husbands shoulder she caressed Legolas brow but drew it with a frown back after a moment.

"Something is weighting down your heart, cousin ...and also yours Elrond..."

She looked between the two male elves back and fourth; it was Legolas who answered her unasked question hesitantly:

"In my vision I saw your death if you leave the safety of Imladris, there would be no way to safe you if you left: on your way back you and your escort would be ambushed by a large band of Orcs. Everyone with you would be slaughtered and you would be taken captive...

Even if you were freed you would not be able to remain in Arda and would sail..."

While he spoke his voice had become almost a whisper and if it weren't for their elvish hearing neither Elrond nor Celebrian would have heard him.

Wordlessly Celebrian starred at the still unlit candle beside the bed till she softly spoke, her voice sounding faint and lost, a mere shadow of its lifelines from moments before:

"Then I will remain in Imladris, though I know in my heart that I will not be able to remain forever confined to one place, no matter how much I love it. When I will finally leave this valley I will travel alone, I will not bring death to others especially if their death would not change my fate.

For now I will remain here with my family!"

She leaned forward and placed a kiss on her husbands brow, caressing his hair, to the surprise of Legolas she then leaned down to him and also kissed his brow and trailed with her finger the lines of his face.

"You have so much of your mother in you... and yet you carry a pain she never knew; what happened to you son of Silruinel?"

seeing his tiredness she continued:

"Sleep now, and in the morning you will have to tell me of your life, of Gondor.!"


	5. Acharn

Never opened myself this way 5

# For more then two weeks now am I living in The Last Homely House with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian. During the days since my last vision I have spend most of my time with my cousin Lady Celebrian. While I tell her of my life, that I spend mostly in Gondor she tells me of my mother as well as my uncle - her father - Lord Celeborn and his wife the Lady Galadriel. A few times she also tried to speak to me of my father, of his grief over my death but everytime I was able to stir our conversation away from him. I know that she wonders why I do not want to know more about my father when I almost greedily listen to everything she is able to tell me of my brothers and other members of my family - but she does not ask me for a reason.

From her I have also learned more of my grandfather Oropher, she had never met my paternal grandmother Ithilwen as she had died even before my parents sealed their bond. Before Celebrian married Lord Elrond she had often visited her aunt in Greenwood as it lay close to Lothlorien - closer as Imladris.

Oropher, she says, had taken to her as if she was his own daughter and not just the niece of his daughter in law; one time she had spent more than two years in Greenwood, being present as my oldest brother Laurenor, the heir of the throne of Mirkwood, was born.

It was also Celebrian who told me that both my brothers were visiting Imladris often and that their visits were never announced beforehand and even though I long to meet my brothers whom I have heard spoken off so highly I dare not to meet them out of fear that it would also mean the final confrontation with my father...

When I was able to come into the possession of Mithril by forging in return swords and axes for a group of dwarfs almost thirty years after the Last Alliance I left Osgiliath to settle down in the most wonderful city the edain have ever created in Arda: Minas Ithilien. While living in Osgiliath I had often travelled to that wonderful city in the east but only after I was in the possession of Dwarven silver did I do more than visit.

But no matter how much I loved this beautiful city with its high tower and walls, the long stone path that led to its gates and the green fields that were still surrounding it I was not able to stay more then five years as the darkness that swept over the mountains form Mordor were slowly poisoning it. When I had moved to this magnificent twin of Minas Tirith most of its inhabitants who had returned after the Last Alliance had won the battle of Mount Orodruin were already fleeing its gates to the safer minas Tirith or Osgiliath. Therefor it had been easy to find an abandoned smithy were I was able to "play" with the Mithril I had received without being disturbed.

The two gauntlets I always wear beneath those made out of leather were the last things I ever made in Minas Ithilien before I also fled the city. Since many centuries now Minas Ithilien is known as Minas Morgul, feared by all free races of Arda as the home of the Nazgul and worse yet the Witchking of Angmar, the leader of the Ringwraiths.

These two archery gloves are two of the three only possessions I have that are forged with elven-magic. Forging the swords for the naugrim as a payment for the Mithril I had learned that depending on the amount of elven-magic I used to forge them they gained different "abilities": the most common was that they would glow blue whenever Orcs were near - this was what the dwarfs knew and wanted.

Not known to them was that if I used more of my inherited power, the power every elf possesses, the metal would not only glow but also grew warm and give the wearer or wielder a certain direction from where the enemy was advancing. It is intentional that I use the word enemy and not limit it to Orcs as I have learned later that I can feel the advancing of everyone I see as an enemy and not only when it is an Orc. I am sure that I would also feel the advance of my father with help of this gloves if I wouldn't feel him beforehand.

Years later, when I had already travelled to Harad after I had heard from a merchant of the ivory, the long tusks of the Oiliphants that inhabited the vast deserts of Harad, I settled once again down in Osgiliath - in Harad I had spend not even a year as I, a Woodelf, was not able to find comfort in this treeless lands. It was fascinating to watch how the Haradrim caught the Oiliphants and - without killing or harming them in any way - cut of the front third of their tusks.

In Osgiliath I was able to sell one of the necklaces for a ridiculous high price to a noble-man from Dol Amroth who wanted to surprise his wife - a price, that made it possible for me to by a smithy. For nearly a lifetime of the edain I worked there as a Gold- and Silversmith, creating jewellery for the nobles of Gondor. With this work I earned a fortune that is still largely in my possession as I have only once ceased to work.

While I only sold jewellery it was during those years that I forged the weapons I carry - at least those that are made from metal. The ivory I had bought in Harad I used mostly as handles for a pair of fighting knives, giving them an extraordinary appearance; besides my bow - the only weapon I carry that does never see more than a century at the most - these twin-knives are my preferred weapons.

Years ago in Minas Ithilien I also forged myself a sword, for its handle I also used ivory but also Mithril. Like for my white knives I used Mithril to forge the blade - a blade that is lightly curved at its pointy end as the blades of the elven-swords I had seen in use during the battle of Mount Orodruin.

It was this blade that changed my life and made me something that disgusts me till this day - and always has even as I lived that way. Forging that blade I was overcome with a vision, a vision that shoved me the murder of a woman and her infant. While this infant was not strangled to death but had a knife driven into his heart I was reminded of my own death.

While I had had that vision while I lived in Minas Morgul I did not react to it immediately but only after I had had it a second time, more detailed and gruesome than before, in Osgiliath. As soon as I was able to sell my smithy I left Osgiliath, as I now knew that it was not there were this murder would happen.

My instinct told me that it wouldn't happen anytime soon but the fear that this innocent infant might die because I was to late to save him drove me to search for the place where the attempt on his life would take place. #

Lost in memories Legolas carefully placed his quill on the table and stood up. Hidden away between all the small and big things he had brought with him from Minas Tirith was this sword during which forging he had had that fateful vision. Almost franticly he searched for the cloth in which he wrapped sword and scabbard. He did not hear the knock on his door nor did he notice that the door opened and Lord Elrond came in, carrying a tablet with fruit, two goblets and a carafe of wine.

A lone tear slid down his face as he drew the sword that shone red in the early sun of the evening, red like his hair and the blood of those it had slain. With closed eyes he wielded it, following the movements he had used so often in the past to kill. He should have never allowed his emotions to control his actions, never should he have allowed his own hate for his father be carried over to those who had planned the murder of this infant and his mother.

Acharn, Revenge, that was the name of this sword: etched into the Mithril blade he had written in elvish runes the words: Revenge is my name and revenge I will deliver. Legolas had not touched the blade since he had killed the one person who had ordered the murder of mother and child, the uncle of the infant who wanted to end the line of his older brother by killing his wife and his only child - no, he knew that he had touched the sword once since then but that one time brought him happy memories, memories he would not taint with the pain he was feeling at the moment. When he had killed that man he had sworn himself that he would only use Acharn two more times: to take revenge on his father and then end his own cursed life; till then Acharn would sleep, hidden away in the depths of his mind and soul.

Placing it back into its scabbard he opened his eyes to come face to face with Lord Elrond who had sat down in the chair besides his bed.

"That is a wonderful blade!"

the elf Lord commented quietly and was disturbed as he saw in the others eyes the suppressed urge to draw - and use - the sword against him.

"It is a cursed blade, a blade that will be destroyed when it has fulfilled its purpose."

Nearly tearing the cloth apart Legolas tried to wrap the sword once again but it slid out of his shaking hands and fell clattering to the floor.

"Let me help you."

Offered Elrond and stood up and picked up the sword that was still laying where it had fallen, besides it stood Legolas, unblinkingly staring down on the sword. As the younger elf still did not react as he offered him the sword Elrond placed it carefully on the bed and turned back to the other who stood there with a faraway look in his eyes. Wordlessly he watched as Legolas walked over to the carafe of wine he had brought and filled both goblets. Only when both of them had sat down - Legolas on the chair he had just vacated and he himself on the bed - did he speak.

"Legolas, what does that sword mean to you that it is able to upset you this strongly?"

He was watching Legolas carefully, once again wondering what had happened in the younger elf's past that caused him to react this way to the most simple things.

"You know who I am, what I have been... I am aware that you searched for me more than a millennia ago but were not able to find me as I had hidden any traces that might lead you in my direction...

This sword was what caused me to become what I was, it was this sword I used most of the time - and I will use it again before I destroy it.

It should have been the star of my work, a weapon upon which I could look with pride - but it became my doom, finished with pain and the thought of revenge. This sword has never tasted the blood of Orcs or wargs and it never will, it has only tasted the blood of edain, of those who tried or planned the murder of an innocent child, barely a month old... and someday it will taste the blood of a first born, two even: the blood of my murderer and my own.

Like myself this sword should have become something else, do something else than it was forced to become, to do - and like myself it will never find peace till it has finished what it set out to do..."

Legolas trailed of, his mind filled with the faces of all those whose death he had caused with this blade - and to the deaths he still wanted to cause with it. His face became a mask of pain as he saw his fathers face before him, a face that he knew could shine with love but that had only looked with hate and rage at him. Even though he hated this man who had caused his death, who had caused him so much pain he was still not able to cease to love him. Love him because his mother had loved him, because he had loved him when he had been born and placed into the arms of his father.

His love for his father was the reason he would be the last victim of his sword, he would not be able to live after he had murdered his own father, no matter that he had the right to do so.

While Legolas was lost in his memories Elrond who had placed his hand on the younger elf's shoulder saw images flickering before his eyes, scenes he had never seen, people he had met during his long life and accompanying these images was a deep sense of fear, of panic, a panic like he had never felt before in his long life. He knew that neither the images he was seeing nor the fear and panic he was feeling were his own but he was not able to separate his own emotions from the elf he was touching.

Suddenly the sense of panic grew even stronger and a wave of ever growing pain came crashing down on him. Just before he had to break the contact with the younger elf he saw the outline of a face and knew that the person this face belonged to was the cause of Legolas pain.

Groaning in pain he sank to his knees before the younger elf and looked up at him.

"Who was it, Legolas? Who has caused you this pain?"

"Does it really matter?"

Legolas answered as he helped the older elf to sit back down on the bed,

"You should neither have seen nor felt what you just did, it was luck that you broke the connection before you felt my death - you saw the last moments of my first life, the life I should be leading..."

Seeing the still inquiring face of the other he continued, his voice sounding harsher than before:

"I will not tell you who it was that you saw, it will not help you and it will cause me only more pain, I see that face everytime I rest my mind, I feel what you have felt every moment of my life - till the moment I have taken revenge... someday you will learn what you want to know, when I have sought my revenge you will know who it was, who is still able to cause me so much pain but till that day this knowledge will stay hidden in the depths of my soul and the hearts of the Aratar."

Forcefully Legolas stood up and went over to the desk that stood besides the window where he had worked earlier. With a last glance on the pages he had written before he had felt the urge to see, to feel Acharn he closed the leather-bound book and placed it in a drawer.

Loosening his leather gauntlets which he was always wearing he sat back down, his gaze gliding to his sword. Elrond who had watched him the whole time was about to ask him something as his eyes fell on the forearms of the younger: while he had taken of the leather gloves he was still wearing those out of Mithril which were now glittering in the light of the last sun-rays.

"You are full of surprises - gauntlets out of Mithril?"

he asked the absent-minded prince who looked for a moment startled before his face split into a wide smile:

"I couldn't help myself, it is one of the traits I have inherited from Orophers house... most of my weapons, fighting-knives, my sword, and even every other small knife I carry with me are made out of Mithril - as are many pieces of jewellery I own.

When I made them I had planned to sell them but once they were finished I could not bring myself to give them away for money to someone who didn't mean anything to me..."

Inspired by an idea he stood up and went over to his pack, on the bottom of it were those pieces of jewellery he had forged out of Mithril - and the Mithril he had still not used.

Searching through the pieces he soon found what he was looking for, a headpiece.

"It would suit you perfectly"

he told the other with a shy smile,

"When I had seen the High King at Mount Orodruin I had fallen in love with his circlet but I never found it in myself to recreate it - instead I forged this..."

Fascinated Elrond observed the young elf as he reached for the offered piece of jewellery. He had to agree that it was beautiful - and he clearly saw that it had been inspired by Gil-Galads circled: while this circlet had four strands of Mithril that were entwined in each other in the front and had a small opening in the back his lieges circlet had had four entwined strands in the back and opened above the ears. The way the strands were entwined was the same.

With a quiet thank you he accepted the gift.


	6. Lareth

Never opened myself this way 6

# Even though Acharn, my sword, has brought so much pain - no, even though I used it to bring so much pain - it also brought me great joy. It was to a time when I had lost all will to live: the infant I had saved decades ago was long dead and I had fled my identity as the assassin of the steward, nothing seemed to be worth to live on...

During those years I was living in the second circle of Minas Tirith, like the first a circle of beggars and whores, of all those whom every city denies to have. Among these people I was able to hide from everyone who might have recognised me. Once again I owned a smithy, an always dirty room with two small rooms above it in which I lived. As I had nothing better to do and tried to drown my guilt I worked almost none stop resting only when it was absolutely necessary.

When I had first arrived in that circle I had to fend of suitors who mistook me for a maiden they though was selling herself for a meal, only when I had drawn Acharn and threatened that I would use it on the next person who touched me - and shortly afterwards did indeed use it - was I left alone. Already months had passed since that occasion when one night a boy, still a child of no more than ten or twelve years, broke into my smithy and tried to steal my sword. No-one not even my neighbours knew that I was an elf, I carefully concealed my ears with scarves, hoods or simply my hair so this boy was shocked when he found me still working in the dark room, carving ornaments on a bracelet. For even though I was working as a blacksmith I could not deny myself the pleasure to work at night on jewellery - the circlet I gifted Lord Elrond a few days ago, a work inspired by the circlet of the last High King Gil-Galad, was one of those jewlleries I made in those years.

Lareth - that was the name of the child - had already Acharn in his hands when he saw me, sitting on my worktable and looking at him. I knew that even when he tried to flee I would be able to catch him, so why hurry? Indeed he did not try to flee, maybe because he knew that I would be able to catch him and as I had seen his face there would be barely a chance for him to hide from me, the penalty for thievery was very high in those days and many thieves would have preferred death to years in a small dirty cell where they were lucky if they would not be forgotten by the guards and received food and water.

While I stood up and walked over to him, this dirty boy, clad only in torn rags stood just where he had first seen me and stared defiantly up at me. He didn't move at all when I took the sword from him and drew it. Only when I spoke to him did he flinch. Thinking back today I have to concede that I was unnecessary cruel to him that night: he could have no idea that I would never want or be able to harm a child in any way.

How could he know that when I asked for his name and where his parents or other guardians were I had not in mind to force myself onto him. He was trembling when he told me that he was alone in the world and living in the streets; he didn't even try to run away when I led him up to my rooms - later I learned that it would not have been the first time that someone forced himself on him.

Wide eyed he nearly inhaled the food that I had placed in front of him and was even more shocked when I told him to leave and come back the next evening. To be truthful I didn't expect to see him ever again so when he came back the following evening I had prepared nothing for him. I had been once again working on a piece of jewellery - this time a ring, a small band of Mithril engraved with the seal of Orophers house, my fathers house... and my own - when he suddenly stood next to me.

He waited silently as I finished the ring, wondering how I should proceed with this child: while I had long reached adulthood - by that time I had already passed my thousandth year - I had never taken care of a child, for that was exactly what I had planned to do. I don't know how long he had to wait till I was finished with the ring but it must have taken a while because he could barely hold his eyes open when I led him to my rooms. In the room I used as my bed-room stood also a iron tub that I filled with water I had warmed down in my smithy.

Fearfully Lareth followed my order to disrobe and wash himself, only when he came after a while to the other room, wearing one of my too large tunics did he seem to relax and spoke for the first time without being asked a question. Nearly demanding he wanted to know why he was there and what I wanted from him, as an afterthought he asked for my name that I had still not given him.

He didn't want to believe me at first when I told him that I wanted to teach him, nothing else. For weeks he was on edge around me but when I continued to do nothing except feed, house and clothe him did he start to slowly trust me. During all this time I had still not told him a name to call me by - I didn't want to use Carnil as the assassin was still remembered but Legolas would have revealed my elvish heritage.

Almost a whole year did Lareth call me whatever he wanted and most likely he would have continued if he hadn't found out who or rather what I was. It had been evening, he had been out the whole day and I was working on a knife and didn't hear him enter. I had not expected him to return that early and knew that no customer would come at that time: I didn't wear anything to conceal my ears and had my hair bound back.

He just stared at my ears, eyes filled with wonder and disbelieve. Only when I had loosened my hair and it concealed once again the pointy tip of my ears was he able to formulate his thoughts. That evening I told him who I was - or at least that I am an elf from Greenwood and that my real name is Legolas. Years passed till I revealed to him as what I was born and under what name I had lived in Gondor.

Lareth stayed my friend till his death when he was old and had already children and grandchildren, every third son of his first born, no matter if the first born is a boy or girl, still carries my name. Lareth had wanted to name his first born after me Legolas but at my request he choose to name instead his third son Carnil. When he had asked me why he was the only one who knew my true name I had answered him that Legolas had died many years ago and that Carnil had lived.

Till this day I think of Lareth as my own son even though I did neither sire him nor was I there when he lived through his early childhood - but I was there when he grew up, when he met his wife, married and when his children were born. I was there when his wife died and when he drew his last breath...his children saw me as an uncle as did his grandchildren. Two centuries later the first born daughter of one of Lareths descendants married the heir of the steward of Gondor, her third son was named Carnil the twelfth.

It was Acharn who led Lareth to me - and brought me the greatest happiness of my life.

More than a century I had searched for the place where the infant and his mother would be murdered when I found the scenery I had seen in my vision in Dol Amroth: an open square, right and left narrow streets and a bigger street at the north and south end. The houses that surrounded this square were those of rich merchants who preferred to live above their shops or workrooms.

One of those houses was owned by a Goldsmith and his family who agreed to let me work for him after he had seen some of my works. Neither he nor his family were people I liked but they were the only ones who owned a shop of a profession I had learned. Luckily I had to wait only for two years till the carriage I had been waiting for arrived from the North.

Almost as soon as the richly decorated carriage had entered the square a group of fifty strongly armed men arrived closing the carriage in. Because of my appearance - "you look like a girl so you will see to it that we will get customers" as the owner of the smithy had told me as soon as he hired me - I was working in the front of his shop and was able to see everything that happened outside.

When I reached the carriage the mother and all her guards were already dead and the leader of the band of murderers had just raised his sword to kill also the infant when my sword pierced his heart. Green tear filled eyes stared at me in panic, the blanket in which the small boy was wrapped was soaked with the blood of his mother who had still closed her arms around her son.

The whole square had filled with residents but none of them tried to stop the fleeing attackers. The smith I worked for even threw my belongings out as he saw that I was the one who had so easily slain six of the men and their leader while all the guards that had travelled with the carriage had found their death.

It was the seal on the ring the mother was wearing that told me whom I had saved - and whom I had been to late to save: the woman had been the young wife of the stewards first born and the child I held in my arms, trying to calm him down, was the grandchild of the steward - the only son of the next steward.

I must have stood there, with the infant in my arms, for hours, caught up in my own memories and in the pain I felt from the child. A moan of terror and grief brought me out of my thoughts and turning my head I saw a young man, accompanied by six guards jumping from his horse and running to the open carriage. Tears were streaming down his face as he cradled the woman into his arms, not even noticing me who stood at the other side of the carriage.

The quiet whimper of the child in my arms let him finally look up: wonder filled his face as he reached for his son, replacing for moments the grief over the death of his wife.

Had I walked away as soon as he had taken the child from me my past might have been different but as it was I could not tear myself from the forms of father and son. The love the fathers face showed when he looked down on his son while it was overflowing with grief as soon as he looked - or even thought - of his dead wife whose corpse was still lying were she had been slain. He was able to still love his son even though his mother had died defending her child, so different from my father who hated and murdered me because I had lived while my mother had died.

When I finally turned one of the guards held me back, asking me if the sword that was still stuck in the body of the attacker was mine. I should have denied it and simply walked away - but I thanked him and drew my sword out of the body. Gleaming red with blood I cleaned it on the tunic of the corpse of the man who had tried to murder the infant - and had murdered his mother - I caught finally the attention of the father.

Even then I had still the possibility to change my fate but I agreed to accompany him back to Minas Tirith. Not the father of the infant but his grandfather, the steward, asked - ordered - me to find those who had tried to kill the whole family of his son. Was it my pride that let me agree to this request? Was I driven by the thirst to prove myself to him - or was it simply my hate, my disgust for those who had ordered and tried to murder an innocent, helpless infant because their actions reminded me of my own father?

Years have passed since that day when I agreed to become the assassin of the steward and I am still not sure why I agreed. My hate blinded me on my search for those men and let me forget all mercy - at least I never tortured the victims of my fury and never have I slain an innocent. It took nearly two decades till I found out who had been responsible for that ambush in which the wife of the stewards oldest son had been killed and I asked the steward, his oldest son, the widower, and the young man who had been the infant I had saved if I should also kill the one who had ordered the attack as it had been the stewards second son.

He was the last person I killed with the sword, the last time I used it, my only consolation was and still is, that none of those men had a wife or children and that I only slew those that I knew were guilty. I am not sure if I could live with the knowledge that I had murdered someone innocent.

I fled Minas Tirith after the last of the men who had tried to kill an infant were death, not able to bear the presence of the people of the city. For years I travelled through the south and east of Gondor till I returned to Minas Tirith and settled down in the second circle where I met Lareth. #

A call from outside his room let Legolas put down his quill and close his journal.

"Carnil, are you in there?"

Elrohir called a second time before he opened the door.

"You barely leave this rooms anymore when you are not talking to mother or father - even Arwen is not able to bring you out to do anything else."

An elbow in his ribs let him stop as Arwen did not like what her brother was implying. Grinning Legolas followed the three children of Celebrian and Elrond out of his rooms. Even though he lived by then for nearly a month in Imladris did no-one besides the Lord and Lady of the valley know who he really was. Often he felt the eyes of Lord Glorfindel on him, but never had the older elf talked to him if it wasn't a greeting.

Once again the eyes as the Lord from Gondolin followed the young man who was walking beneath his balcony and once again he wondered what the other elf meant to him. He had asked his dear friend Elrond almost as soon as the young elf had arrived together with Elronds twin-sons but Elrond had just shacken his head and told him that he might remember him from the battle at the slopes of Mount Orodruin.

Yes, he did indeed remember seeing the young man in that battle - and that he felt the same he was feeling now. Elrond was keeping something from him but he could not be sure what it was. It would be of no use to ask Elrond or even Celebrian again but till that moment something had held him back to ask the younger elf.

Looking after the four younger elves he decided that he had waited long enough, trying to solve that riddle on his own, after a swift look around he jumped over the banister and ran after the group. Soon he had reached them:

"Carnil, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Without surprise he saw that the younger man had seemingly awaited his approach, with a nod to his companions he followed Glorfindel as he walked away. As soon as they were out of the hearing range of the three children of the house turned Glorfindel to the red-haired elf:

"Who are you? When I asked Lord Elrond he didn't give me a satisfying answer - I am not sure if he didn't want to answer my question or wasn't able to. Who are you Carnil of Gondor?"

They had stopped by one of the smaller waterfalls, the sound the water made as it flowed down the stones drowning their words to everyone but themselves. Kneeling down and holding his hand into the water Legolas answered after a while:

"As you said, I am Carnil and hail from Gondor - I was not born there but I have lived there most of my life... It is not who I am that you wonder, my Lord but what I am, what you feel whenever I am near. I feel the same: when we fought at the Mount Orodruin and as soon as I entered this refugee...

You and I are the same, connected through an event we will never be able to forget...

Like you I am an Aratarhîn, I was send back in the same century as were you, though I spend not even a day in the care of Namos."

Disbelieving Glorfindel stared at the young elf before him, he believed him but yet he was not able to accept what he had been just told:

"But even now you are so young, you can be no older than three millennia! When I saw you in Mordor you were barely older than a century! - How can you be a Child of the Valar?"

"Does my age really matter? I was killed when I had not even drawn my first breath - and I was send back the same day... I am as old as I would have been if I had lived..."

Soundlessly Glorfindel sat down besides Legolas and watched him from the side.

"My heart tells me that you are truthful - but it also tells me that you do not tell me something important: You say you lived in Gondor but that you were not born there... Where is it that you were born, who are your parents?"

Taking his hand out of the water and observing the droplets of water that were glittering on his fingers Legolas mused aloud:

"Why have the first born to be so inquisitive?

No, I was not born in Gondor but in the kingdom that is now known as Mirkwood - a fitting name for a kingdom as it is... Only Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian know who I am and that I am even alive... Elrond warned me that you might find out the truth about me and that I would someday have to tell you who I really am...but I hoped that it would take you longer to seek me...

I am the youngest cousin of Celebrian, my mother was Silruinel and my father Thranduil...

...You are surprised..."

Legolas observed as he turned his head to look at the older elf,

"My mother named me Legolas as soon as she knew that she was expecting a third son,"

he continued, turning his head once again away from the older elf:

"though it was Legolas who died... and Carnil who lived. Carnil is the name I carry since I returned to life and only to that name I will answer."

Blue eyes had widened as he heard who the young elf before him was, he had heard of the death of the Princess of Greenwood and her new born son - it had been only thirty years after his return and he had been staying at that time in Lothlorien with Lady Galadriel whom he had met in his first life... and her husband Lord Celeborn, the brother of Princess Silruinel.

He had been in the presence of Celeborn when a messenger told him that his only sister had died in childbirth and that her child had also not survived.

"Your uncle will be overjoyed to hear that you are alive! Have you already send a messenger to him or do you want to travel to Lorien?"

Alarmed but also angered Legolas turned back to the Elven-Lord:

"My uncle will not be told that I am alive - and neither will anyone else! What good will it do Lord Celeborn when he learns that I am alive only to hear in a few years again of my death?

I have committed inexcusable crimes during my life but I will not harm someone innocent - and telling him that I am alive would only harm him! If you are his friend you will stay silent and not tell him of me. I am Carnil from Gondor, an assassin, a ruthless killer... not Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Ignoring Glorfindels shocked face Legolas excused himself and turned to search for the twins and Arwen. How he longed to contact his uncle, meet the only brother of his mother but he knew that it was impossible - Lothlorien was to close to Mirkwood, to his father. No-one would understand why his father could not know that he lived, he could tell no-one that it was his own father who had been responsible for his death, worse yet who had personally killed him.

Thranduil, his father, how he loathed that name, that face - and yet he also loved it. Loved it with an intensity that would bring him his own death. Only when he would drive his sword through his father he would make the other aware who he was. Dying his father should learn who it was that killed him. He knew that the guards would try to kill him as soon as he raised his sword against the king but he would die by his own sword, the sword that would also fell his father. From his memories of the time before his birth he remembered a small hidden door right behind the throne that led to a hallway that ended in a hidden cave near the outskirts of Mirkwood... this hallway he would use when the time had come... he still had to wait a few years, a little more than three centuries till it would be the three thousandth anniversary of his mothers and his own death. On that day he would take his revenge, not one day before or after that date.


	7. Oropher

Never opened myself this way 7

# For many years I have travelled through Arda, the reasons for my journeys were as different as they could possibly be: greed, fear, despair and even the simple joy to be alive.

The first of my journeys began in an attempt to forget - forget not only the death of my foster parents, the old fisher and his wife who had taken me in and raised me, never knowing who I really was. They had given me the love and care they would have given their own child if they would have been blessed with one and thought me everything they knew about their own race as well as mine. It was a shock for me, an immortal, when my father died of old age for even though my first impression in my life had been my mothers and my own death, death was - and still is - a concept I am not able to fully understand.

I know that Eru gifted the edain and every other race except my own with the gift of a final death, a death with which everything would end for them, a gift which I envy them greatly. How often have I wished that my own life had just ended the moment my father had killed me, that I would have just faded out of existence never to return to any plane of existence. Or that Namos had simply kept me in his halls - everything than sending me back to a place that had so far only brought me pain.

My mother, my foster mother, followed my father not even a whole year later, not being able to live without her beloved husband with whom she had spend most of her life and whom she had known since her earliest childhood. Even though it was lonely and full of memories in their home after they had both found their peace I stayed there for five more years, to young to seek something new.

My race, the race of the Eldar count their children as adults when they have concluded their fiftieth year - I had to the time my father died just finished my twentieth year. In the eyes of the edain I had reached early adulthood but in the eyes of my own people I was still a child who was not yet allowed to even use training weapons.

When I finally left my home I had barely any idea of the geography of Arda, knowing only that a settlement of Eldar was in the north and an other south west. Gondor, the Great kingdom of men should lay far in the south and Mordor, the Dark Land, south east. This directions were it that let me travel to the seemingly only safe place, the east.

After two weeks of continuously marching I reached the sea of Rhûn, a place where I hoped to be able to spend many years in peace, undisturbed by any edain or Eldar. I remembered the tales my real mother had told me, tales that spoke of the creation of Arda and our race and that we had come from the far east. The first years in Rhûn I spend searching for any remains of the first Eldar who still called themselves the Quendi, those who talked. Not finding anything that indicated that they had ever walked those fields I finally settled down in a small forest at the sea. For many years the hut that I built myself in the tallest tree was my sanctuary and I would have stayed there for many more years, I might still be staying there, had the forest not been invaded by Orcs.

To my young impressionable mind these Orcs appeared to be the foulest creatures that ever walked Arda - today I know that there are by far fouler creatures, creatures that appear gentle and understanding at first just to reveal their true face when they have gained your trust.

I feared those Orcs and saw as my only reasonable action to flee this forest which had become my sanctuary, my friend who guarded me and told me stories of times long past like my mothers, both of them, had used to do. Yet my fear to meet someone of my own race drove me farther into the east, on the vast plains of Rhûn I encountered a group of edain but different then my foster parents they were not friendly people but harboured a hate for my race as they were servants of Sauron. Again I fled east just to turn after a few weeks of travel as I had seen afar several large band of Orcs, Wargs and other foul creatures of Mordor.

In the hope to reach Gondor, a land that appeared me as the only possible sanctuary, I turned to the south west. It was my fate which let me encounter Gil-Galads army near the Black Gate, had I passed that place a few days earlier I would have been already to far south to meet them and would have met Elendils, Gondors, army... had I reached it a few days later I would have met Greenwoods, my grandfathers, army.

Without many questions I joined the army of the High King of the Noldo after they had given me a sword and bow and arrow - I didn't possess any weapons than a fighting knife and an old hunting bow. It was in the first night in Mordor when I had once again woken up from the dream, the memory that plagued me since I had returned to life, and tried to find peace away from all the other warriors, never before in the barely hundred years of my life had I encountered so many people let alone so many of my own race: since my father had killed me this were the first of the Eldar I had met.

I will never know what led me into the direction of the camp of my family but it was on its outskirts that someone called me by my name, the name my real mother had given me as soon as she was sure that she was expecting a son. The few seconds that I hesitated to run or even just walk away allowed the one who had called me to confirm his suspicions and reach my side. Anger and hate filled my heart as I saw a face that reminded me so much of the face of my own father, hate also directed my voice as he asked me where I had been all those years - and how it came that I was alive.

Only the joy and hope I saw in his eyes allowed me to answer him more calmly, my hate once again directed at the one who deserved it, my father and not my grandfather. Even before I showed him the prove that I really was his grandson Legolas, my grandfather closed me into his arms, shedding tears of pure happiness. As I finally showed him the prove, the royal birth-marks at the small of my back he softly trailed his fingers over the leaves and started to turn me once again around to face him when he noticed the scars on the back of my neck, five small half-moon shaped scars that seemed to leak fresh blood.

In seconds the joy in his eyes turned to shock and anger as he asked me who had given me those scars, who had dared to touch his grandson. Overwhelmed by the love he felt for me and the anger he felt on my behalf I answered him truthfully - but also my hate for my father had grown even stronger when I saw and felt for the first time since my birth of what he had bereft me.

It was only the impending battle that stopped my grandfather from calling my father on his horrible deed. As the time neared that the sun should have risen my grandfather once again closed his arms around me before he took his seal from his ring-finger, a heavy gold-band, decorated with precious stones, the seal of his house and his position engraved in its centre. He told me that this was the ring his heir would be wearing as soon as he had faded and that he wished for me to be this heir. Giving me this ring he gave me the right to his throne, a right that had belonged to my father and then my oldest brother. Having explained this to me who knew almost nothing about my own people except what my mothers had told me, he withdrew a delicate necklace from within his tunic, a necklace he had worn around his own neck since the day of my birth - and my death - a necklace he had ordered to be made for me. Once again the jewel carried the seal of his house but around it were entwined three delicate green leaves, the third bigger and even more delicate than the other two. The last time I saw my grandfather was during the battle when he sank to his knees not far from the place where I was fighting, felled by the scmitar of an Orc.

When the battle was over I fled the remains of Gil-Galads army and followed the army of Gondor back to their homeland, not once seeing my father. The battle had brought great losses to all three armies but the most to the army of my homeland: two thirds of the warriors from Greenwood found together with their king their death. My grandfather knew when he gifted me his seal that I would make no use of it at least not immediately, still he told his only son that one day a Eldar would come who bore his seal and whom he should accept and honour as his rightful king. He did not tell my father who this person would be, knowing very well that I did not want my father to know that I was still - or again - alive.

With Elendils, now Isildurs army did I reach Gondor and settled down in Osgiliath, a rather small city compared to Minas Tirith, Minas Ithilien and even Dol Amroth but none the less beautiful. So far in my years I had learned nothing that granted me a regular income, forcing me to seek out someone who was willing to teach me. Only a blacksmith was willing to take the risk of allowing a complete stranger, a stranger who was overly tall and graceful and had on top of everything else an unusual hair- and eye-colour and wore a cloth that covered his ears and his brow. After only two years I was able to move on to a gold-smith who had noticed that I liked to decorate everything I worked on with delicate ornaments.

Fifteen years he thought me his trade before he died and his smithy was inherited by his oldest son, a man who accused me of trying to take over his position. The younger son of the old master had learned by a friend of his late father, a weapon-smith who, himself being childless, sold the young man his smithy. With this younger of the brothers I spend the next four and a half years till a group of customers changed my life. On an early winter afternoon twelve dwarfs entered the smithy and ordered a single sword to be made out of the metal they carried with them. Was it fate or simply luck that I was alone in the smithy on that afternoon?

At first it was not easy to persuade the dwarfs to sell me most of the Mithril, even more so because I had nearly nothing of worth to pay for, I had no intention to part with the two gifts my grandfather had given me in the last night he ever saw. But the thoughts of my grandfather reminded me of something else of worth that I owned: the elven sword I had been given in Mordor. Seeing the sword nearly a half of the dwarfs wanted to leave immediately till the oldest of them pointed out to the others that I was apparently an elf and as such able to forge elven swords for them - or at least swords that had the ability to glow in the presence of Orcs, elven -magic he called it. For five swords and two axes they promised to give me all of the Mithril they carried with them. As stray Orcs were still roaming the lands there would be enough possibility for them to control if I had held up my end of the bargain.

Those sword and axes were the last weapons I forged in the smithy of my master. Together with the dwarfs I left weeks later Osgiliath. The oldest of the dwarfs was the one who was the friendliest of the twelve, it was on his order that I was given a small part of the Mithril after I had finished the first two swords... fascinated by it I worked after hours on a small ring and a delicate necklace, a necklace I later traded in Harad for the ivory I used for my sword and knives. The ring I made, a small band decorated with a water-lily I gave my master as a thanks as I left with the dwarfs.

While the twelve dwarfs were on their way to Minas Tirith I continued alone to Harad, a country I have no intention to ever see again. While the air is warm - I expect that the edain would call it depending on their endurance unbearable hot or simply hot - the land is dry, offering no water for trees or other larger vegetation to grow, only here and there small Oases of Palm-trees can be found. During the weeks I spend there I wished for nothing more than trees, a small forest or even just a single tree. As a Woodelf, I found it nearly unbearable not to be able to speak with my beloved trees, even in Osgiliath I had been able to steal away at night to speak with the trees of the city and find comfort in them.

Even though I was never actively thought the language and runes of my people I was able to remember them from what I had learned from my family before my birth, I remembered how my mother used to read for many hours, how she spoke to the trees - and to me. She choose my name because a small green leave had opened before its time while she was telling the tree that her third child would also be a son and that she knew that I would make a difference in the world. A tree choose my name, a name my mother accepted. I don't know if the grade of the connection I have with nature and trees especially is natural for the first born or if I have acquired it after my return to life - or even before my birth - but I have always been able to talk to the trees as to every of the edain, Eldar or even dwarfs. Everything that has a connection to nature is speaking in a language that I am able to understand, no matter which tongue they use.

Therefor I felt lost in Harad, the few people I met were friendly and willing to help me but I still missed the - sometimes silent - comfort the trees lend me. During the long nights I spend awake, either afraid to rest my mind or awoken from the face of my father, the trees always comforted me, telling me what they had seen during the day or what they remembered of times long past... sometimes they even told me stories the wind had carried to them. I learned through a tree on the outskirts of Osgiliath of the birth of a pair of twins in an elven realm in the west... was this the way of the Valar to warn me who would in years yet to come change my life in a way I would have never expected? This twins, of whose birth a tree had informed me have brought me almost three millennia later to their home Imladris, where I learned that their mother is my cousin, where I finally found a part of my family, a part I have not to fear.#

A wistful smile played around Legolas lips as he remembered the confusion and longing he had felt when the old oak, one of the oldest trees in Osgiliath had nearly shouted at him the news of the birth of twins to the ruling house of an elven-realm. Why did the oak tell him of this birth? Never before had any of the trees told him something of the elven-realms, never had they spoken to him of his people, sensing the pain any news of them brought him - so why did she tell him of this twins, twins he would most likely never meet? Thinking back he knew that it was the way of the Valar to tell their child that this new-born twins would change his life.

The moment he had seen Elladan and Elrohir in the tavern in Minas Tirith he had known that he would go with them to their home, even though he knew that it meant that he would most likely be discovered by someone, maybe even his father, something he feared more than anything else. He had been discovered but this discovery had changed his life for the better, he had not only gained friends but had also found family - something he longed for since the moment the Valar had granted him a second life.


	8. Celeborn

Never opened myself this way: 8

Still smiling Legolas stood up and went out on the balcony. He felt a peace that came only over him when he was surrounded by trees. For once his eyes were light as the lightest, newly opened leaves and everyone who looked up to the balcony wondered what allowed the normally so expressionless and silent young man to appear that open. Calmly Legolas watched as a lone rider came closer through the trees , who were not willing to disclose the identity of the rider to him. Without fear he stared at the figure as it came closer, already could he discern that it was a lone elf, an elf with silver hair. In a moment of panic Legolas wanted to turn and flee but a sunray that fell upon his hair and set it to the eyes of those watching aflame let him realise how futile such an attempt would be: where should he turn, now that this rider had become aware of him? There was nowhere to flee to, Gondor was known as his last hiding-place and none of the other two elven-realms was possible.

His heart filled half with resignation half with unimaginable joy Legolas raised his hand in greeting and was rewarded with a similar gesture from the rider who had nearly reached the gates of the valley. With a heavy heart he watched as the rider was greeted at the gates first by his daughter and grandchildren and then by his son in law. How much he longed to be able to stand there together with his family and welcome his uncle but still only his cousin, her husband and their friend Glorfindel - and now his uncle were aware of his existence.

Was it common for the ruler of Lothlorien to visit his daughter without his wife or an escort or was there an other reason for his sudden arrival? Could he have known that he was there, that Imladris was his new hiding place - or was it just coincidence that he came now on a visit, not a year after he had arrived?

Slowly Legolas walked down to the dining-hall where he was eating together with his cousins family and their close friends. Even though he had seen his uncle that afternoon when he had come to Imladris, this would be the first time he would be able to talk to him, had to talk to him. He only hoped that Celeborn would not address him as Legolas but would wait to be introduced to him - and that whomever introduced him would introduce him as Carnil, for even though it pained him to lie to Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen he could not risk for them to know the truth, not yet.

"Father, you have not yet met our guest Carnil from Gondor!"

Celebrian addressed her father while her eyes were directed at Legolas as he sat down, not in his customary seat next to Celebrian which was taken by his uncle but in the seat next to Lord Celeborn. During the whole meal both Celeborn and Legolas were careful not to address each other, both fearing that they could reveal what they knew about the other - and both apprehensive to mention Legolas past.

As soon as the meal was over Legolas tried to excuse himself but was stopped by his uncle who held him like his grandfather had done years ago by his shoulder.

"Carnil, my daughter mentioned that you come from Gondor?"

he asked the elf, his silver-green eyes fixed on the darkening green of the elf he knew was his nephew. How much he looks like Silruinel, he thought, how long had he waited to see this face again. His eyes, they were the same as hers have been - and yet hers carried never the veiled pain and threat that he saw clearly in the eyes of this young elf.

"Yes, lord Celeborn - I have lived for many years in Gondor... in fact most of my life."

Legolas replied, his body drawn as his bow the seconds before he let the arrow loose. He knew that he was barely polite to his mothers brother but seeing him this close, being forced to sit next to him during the whole meal had opened wounds he had hoped had closed long ago. Even though Celeborn looked almost nothing like his younger sister, their gestures, their personality were the same. With every gesture his uncle made Legolas saw his mother and felt a longing he had spend years to suppress.

He knew that it would take only moments before he would loose control and run - it didn't even matter to him where his feet would carry him as long as he would no longer see this man who personified for him everything he missed.

Celeborn as well as Glorfindel, Elrond and Celebrian were watching Legolas carefully, how his eyes turned darker and darker till they finally appeared to be black. His whole posture made it clear that he would rather be in the fires of Mount Orodruin than standing before his uncle.

"Let us take a walk through the gardens while you tell me of your time in Gondor - I have visited it only once, as it was newly built."

Celeborns tone allowed no different answer from Legolas than a nod while he followed him. Instead to the gardens Celeborn led Legolas to his rooms where he closed his arms around the younger as soon as he had closed the doors behind them.

"I have waited for years for the moment I could take you into my arms, little one! It is good to have you back!"

Shocked by the behaviour of his uncle Legolas stood still, even after Celeborn had taken his arms from around him. With wonder he saw that tears were sliding down the cheeks of his uncle and was even more bewildered as he felt that his own cheeks were also wet.

"You don't have to tell you what happened the day you were born, I don't know who did it to you but I know what happened to you. After I had learned of your and your mothers death I had wanted to sail but Irmo showed me what had happened to you - and that you had been send back."

A soft sad smile was playing around Celeborns lips without reaching his eyes which were not once leaving the youngest son of his sister.

"You look so much like your mother, so much like Silruinel... you even have her gestures...

Tell me of your life, Legolas? What have you done during these years, where have you lived?"

Ashamed Legolas turned his head so that he had no longer to look at his uncle:

"I spent the first twenty years of my life with the couple that had found me, they became my foster parents and only after their death did I leave the Celduin and followed it east to the sea of Rhûn.... I went with Isildurs army back to Gondor, to Osgiliath,..."

Legolas didn't get further as Celeborn stopped him with a hand-gesture:

"You fought at Mount Doom?"

he interrupted his youngest nephew shocked,

"You had barely reached your first century by the time of the Last Alliance!"

"Does it matter, uncle? Children will carry swords when there is no one else to defend them... I met Gil-Galads army when it reached the Black Gates and followed them. The night before the battle I spend talking with my grandfather, I saw how he was slain only a few hours later... if I had not been there I would have never met him, would have never had the chance to talk to him and get to know him.

For a few years I lived in Osgiliath were I learned my trade."

A boyish grin flickered over Legolas face at the disbelieving face of his uncle, with a light chuckle that belied the pain it brought to him to speak of his past, he continued:

"Yes, uncle, I am a smith: a black-, gold- and weapon smith! Don't look so disbelieving, I have learned that trade for more than twenty years and worked in it for even longer, in fact till the day I met Elladan and Elrohir!"

Amused and relieved to see such a smile on his sisters son Celeborn turned eyes at the younger as realisation dawned him, astounded he asked:

"Were you the one who forged the head-band that Elrond was wearing? He refused to tell me who made it for him, only that it was inspired by Erenions circlet...Did you spend all these years in Osgiliath or did you ever live in one of the other cities? I spend a few weeks in Minas Anor when it had been newly built at that time Osgiliath was no more than a small village that should become a city. I never found the time to visit Minas Ithilien or Dol Amroth."

"The circlet does suit him, doesn't it"

Legolas answered him with a hint of satisfaction and pride in his voice before it grew once again solemn.

"I have lived also in Dol Amroth and most of the time in Minas Tirith... Minas Ithilien was the most beautiful of Gondors cities, the time I was able to spend there was too short, much too short! After only five years I had to flee it as one of the last inhabitants, when I had arrived the city was already emptying, when I fled it was already a city of ghosts and spirits, fear spread through the streets and darkness blackened the days."

Lost in memories Legolas' voice trailed of. He had loved Minas Ithilien and preferred it to Minas Anor – or Minas Tirith as it had long been known as. The city had been unique, the tower in its centre piercing the sky like a thick thorn. Once it had been a green city, a city full of life and laughter... He had seen it fall into despair, every time he had visited the city it had been emptier than the time before, when he had moved there already half of its inhabitants had fled... He was the last who had forsaken the once powerful city.

A hand on his right arm brought him out of his thought. Haltingly he continued.

"It wasn't long after I had left Minas Ithilien that I became an assassin for the steward and his heirs, I am sure that you have heard of me as Elrond and Glorfindel came to Minas Tirith to search for me – but by then I had already fled the city. For a few years after that I travelled, I have see much of Arda, but not once did I set foot in one of our realms.

When I came back to Minas Tirith I settled down in the second ring where no one would be able to recognise me... It was there that I found Lareth – or rather he found me."

A dry, mournful chuckle escaped Legolas as he thought of his son. It had been painful to write about him but to talk about him... He had never spoken to anyone but Lareths', his family, about the man he thought of as his own son. How he missed the child, later man, how he missed his voice, his laughter – even his anger.

Celeborn silently watched his nephew, he could sense the love, the pain his sisters youngest connected with this person and wondered who could have touched the younger ones heart in such a way yet before he could ask Legolas continued.

"Lareth was my son in everything but blood, he was the only one who knew who I was before I was called Carnil and what I had become... he was such a sweet boy and such a wonderful man and father... I wonder if his descendants still remember him, if his story is still told in the house of the steward or if they have forgotten about him.

Dying he asked of me not to grief for him, he wanted me to live, I promised him, that no matter what my heart would not break over a member of his family. If I didn't know better I would say that he was gifted with foresight – or that he was send be the Valar to ensure that I would not give up...

Till I met Elladan and Elrohir I stayed in Minas Tirith and watched over my family, at least the line of the first borne: his descendants are to many to keep count and even though I am able to find them by their name only the line of his first born is easily followed."

How curious Legolas thought wryly, my whole life can be wrapped up in a few sentences, a few words to tell of nearly three millennia of struggle and the wish for revenge and death. Is that really all that is to say about me? That I became an assassin? That I raised Lareth that I taught him the trade of a smith? Is that really all that is to say about Carnil of Gondor?

I have two names, two different identities – but both amount in death, in pain. Both, Legolas and Carnil have known love and yet for both the love only led to death, for Legolas because it was love that drove my father to kill me and for Carnil because I loved a mortal as my child. Which of my lives was better, which would I chose if I was given the choice, that of Legolas or that of Carnil? Would I be able to bear the responsibility of being an Aratarhen? Would I be able to face my murderer – or would I flee? Flee like I fled my identity as Carnil the assassin? When I go ever back to Gondor, will I once again call myself Carnil and deny my house or will I go back as the proud Elven prince Legolas?

His eyes trained on the curtains that were played silently by the wind Legolas contemplated his future, forgetting completely the presence of his mothers brother. No, he would not go back to Gondor as Legolas – for that meant that he would have forsaken his revenge and the peace of his heart. No, only once he would use the name given to him by his mother before he was even born: killing his father, his murderer he would tell him his real name, tell him that he had come at last to take revenge.

Carnil and Legolas were two persons, one the person he became and one the person he desperately longed to be, one who knew only pain, fear and the thirst for revenge and the other that knew both, despair and love but most of all peace.

It was not a conscious action of him that he sought the embrace of his uncle, the comfort of family; yet even receiving this comfort his resolve stood firm: only the death of his murderer and his own death that would immediately follow could bring him the peace he desperately longed for.


	9. Arwen

**Never opened myself this way: 9**

Lost in thoughts Legolas sat beneath one of the tallest trees in Imladris. It had past almost a century since he had met Elladan and Elrohir in that tavern in Minas Tirith, since he had met his cousin – the cousin he knew he would loose soon. He had tried everything, for years Celebrian had been able to quench her need to visit her home and her friends but almost twenty years ago she had first left the safety of Imladris to travel to Lothlorien – and had returned safely.

A few day ago she had once again left the valley and his pleadings had fallen on deaf ears; he knew that she would not return, that she would be captured and tortured. But he had to agree with her argument, the argument that had allowed him to let her go and remain behind: she would die wherever she was, her time on Arda had ended and it was only a matter of how and whom she would take with her. Every single one of the guards that accompanied her knew that they would most likely never return and even though he felt horrible about it he couldn't bring himself to mourn for those guards, all he could think of what that he was going to loose his cousin.

Lost in thought he didn't even register that Glorfindel made his way over to him, only as the older elf stood next to him did he look up, truly startled for the first time in his life:

"Forgive me my friend, I did not notice your presence before..."

With a tilt of his head Glorfindel sat down next to his young friend, a friend he had adopted as his charge and looked searchingly at him. He had noticed for a few years now that the younger one became more and more withdrawn and wondered about the cause.

"What is worrying you? Ever since Lady Celebrian has left you have been even more absentminded and have easily lost your temper."

Expectantly he looked at the red haired prince who was after all those years still a mystery to him and everyone else in that realm.

"During the first weeks of my stay here I had a vision, a vision that foretold the capture and torture of Celebrian. My heart tells me that she will not return unscathed from this journey and that when she is found she will not remain. Her days on Arda are over and even though I know it I can not help but wish that she would be able to stay."

Legolas was not able to look at his friend while he spoke, sure the other would blame him, blame him like he himself did. He feared and hated his visions, for most of them showed him a future he wished to change but was unable to. Only in rare cases did he have the chance to alter the outcome of his visions. Sometimes he was able to save life's – but sometimes his intervention caused even more life's than it saved. His thirst for revenge made him a murderer, a ruthless killer no better than an Orc – and yet he planned for an other act of revenge against the one who started his pain. Did he have a right to ask for peace, for an end of his endless pain? Did he deserve peace or happiness if he was thirsting for his fathers death? He had no answers for those questions since he had first asked them himself after he had slaughtered the ones who planned and attempted the murder of the grandchild of the steward.

Was Celebrians fate a way to make him pay for his sins? Deep within his mind he knew that such thoughts were ridiculous but with his conscious mind he could not help but thinking them. She was the first who had welcomed him into a family, his family – no, that was not right, Elrond had been the first but than he was related to Elrond only by marriage – the first who had told him of his mother and brothers... How would he be able to bear it when he lost her? How would Elrond bear to loose his wife.

For the first time in his life was he able to envision the pain his father must have felt at his mothers parting, true, he had felt pain when Lareth had died and later Lareths children and grandchildren, he had thought of them as his family, loved them as if they were from his blood – but he had always known that they were mortal that they would someday die. If he hadn't given Lareth the promise not to fade over a member of his family he would have followed his foster son to death.

How much worse must it had been for his father to loose his wife, his one love to death when she was supposed to be immortal? Could he really blame his father for taking out his pain on the apparent source of his pain? Had it really been his fathers intention to kill him or had he just sought a way to escape his pain, not imagining that it would cost his new born son his life.

He would never get an answer to those questions, he knew that he would never be able to ask them, his hate for his father was to great to even think of having a conversation with the man who had caused him so much pain and destroyed his life in more than one way. Would Elrond succumb to the same kind of grief his father had? Would he also turn against him when he lost his wife? After all it had been him who had told Elrond first of the fate of Celebrian.

Should he stay and risk to face the wrath of the son of Eärendil? Was he really willing to find out if his cousins husband would react the same way as his father had all those years ago?

A part of him told him that Elrond would never turn against him, that he would never take out his grief on someone else, that he would never turn to violence... but than no one who had known his father before his mothers death would have believed him capable of murder, they still didn't think that it was him who was responsible for the death of his youngest child, that it was him who murdered his infant son. So how could he be sure that Elrond was really different from his father?

Elrond had been terrified by the scars on his neck, the scars that would always look as fresh as in the moment he had received them, yet he did not know who gave him those scars only how he gained them.

Glorfindel had to call him several times before he reacted to his call. But even as he reacted to the older elf he did so absentmindedly, his thoughts still on his father till the older elf finally gave up on their conversation and he was once again left alone with his thoughts and memories.

Hours later he was found in the same position Glorfindel had left him in by Arwen. A smile graced his face as he saw her coming towards him, even though it were the twins who had brought him to Imladris it was Arwen whom he had grown closest to besides Elrond, Celebrian and Glorfindel. At first their relationship had been awkward as everyone, especially their family had tried to force them together, teasing them and telling them how perfect they looked together. It had taken them the better part of the first half of the century he had spend there to convince everyone that they saw each other as brother and sister, nothing more. Thinking back it was rather amusing to watch the twins trying to convince Arwen or himself that they would only find happiness with each other.

Without a word Arwen sat down in front of her brothers guest, no she mused, he was more like family than a guest, he was as close to her as her brothers, maybe even closer. When he had first come to her fathers valley he had been so distant to everyone except her parents and Lord Glorfindel. Even to her brothers, who had brought him with them from a visit in Minas Tirith was he reserved. Not once had he indicated where he came from or who he was, it had at once been clear to her that he did not tell the whole truth about his past yet she did not know what it was that he was hiding.

A few times she had seen him sparring with either her father or Glorfindel or Erestor and it had frightened her with what coldness he was wielding his weapons. Elladan had once asked him to fight with him a mock duel and Carnil had reclined, telling him that he only wielded his weapons either to train and learn something new or to kill – but never to play. Her brother and everyone else had been shocked by the coldness that radiated from their friend as he spoke those words, how their calm soft-spoken friend became suddenly cold and deadly.

In moments like those she feared him like she had never feared anything else in her life. As soon as he had noticed how his coldness affected her he had tried to suppress it whenever she was near but on rare occasions she was still able to witness it. Since she had first seen him so cold she wondered what could have caused him to become like that. She had often watched him when he deemed himself alone and unobserved and had seen him without the mask that he seemed to always wear: on those occasions his face had been so open, so expressive. Yet what she had seen had frightened her nearly as much as his coldness, the normally collected and calm elf lost in solitude all confidence and became a scared deeply hurt child. After she had witnessed that transformation the first time she had tried to talk with her mother about it but had been told that there was nothing she could do for her friend.

Once at night, shortly after a visit from her grandfather when Carnil had been only for a year in Imladris she has seen him wielding a sword. The sight had transfixed her, she had often seen others wielding their weapons, others whom she knew were experienced warriors but none she had seen had ... felt so deadly, so cold and calculated as did Carnil. She could not say what evoked that feeling in her, the knowledge that the only reason he would ever wield that sword in earnest was pure undiluted hate and thirst for revenge. Whoever would be on the other side of that sword would have no chance for survival.

As much as it frightened her but that knowledge comforted her, she was sure that whoever gained the hate from her friend deserved death. She could not tell why she had so much faith in someone she barely knew but the fact that both her parents and also her grandfather and Glorfindel approved of him strengthened her trust in the mysterious elf.

Neither of the two friends spoke for a long time, each watching the other lost in thought, secure in the knowledge that there was no need for words between them, their mere presence used to give comfort to the other. Yet for some years now Arwen had felt that her friend was drifting away from her, that he was closing himself of even more than he had before. She had first noticed it when her mother had visited Lothlorien the last time, during her absence he had hardly spoken a word to anyone besides her father and had avoided any contact if possible. What was it that held his thoughts in a place so dark that all his good feelings seemed to be swallowed? Should she dare to ask what was ailing him, knowing that even though they were friends he would not confine in her or should she stay silent as before and watch how he seemed to fall even faster? At last she decided to risk having his coldness turned to her and spoke up:

"Carnil, you worry me, for the last years you have become colder and distanced yourself from everyone but naneth, adar and Glorfindel... and now since naneth has left you have become even colder... what is happening to you, what have you seen?"

Arwen soft voice penetrated his dark thoughts, asking him what was happening to him. How could he answer such a question to the daughter of the woman he knew would be tortured and nearly killed? What was it that he had seen? Should he answer her truthfully? Should he tell her what she wanted to know or should he purposely misunderstand the last part of her question?

Before answering her he looked carefully at her, she looked so innocent, as innocent as a child... no, not a child but a child who was secure in the knowledge that its parents loved it unconditional and would die for him. An innocence he reflected he had never possessed – at least not since the moment his fathers hands had closed around his frail neck and had started to squeeze. He remembered the moment clearly when he had realised that the father he loved hated him and wished for his death – and that he was mere moments apart from that death.

... Neither had Lareth possessed that innocence or any kind of innocence, Minas Tirith was a hart place for anyone without a name or money especially if you were a child with no one to turn to. The thought of Lareth brought him back to Arwen who was looking at him inquiringly. Without thought he spoke.

"Someday you will see Gondor, you will see it in the glory I have witnessed before it started to fall into the shadows. And someday you will call it your home."

He did not know how he knew it but he was sure that Arwen future lay in the land he had called his home most of his life.


	10. Arawen

**Never opened myself this way 10**

"Waiting for what is to come, for the message that she has been captured is worse than hearing those sad words could ever be. I know that Celebrian will not return from this journey, I know that her time here in Arda is almost over – and yet I still hope, hope that my vision was just a bad dream, just the manifestation of my fear that I will loose all those I care for and who care for me. By the time I am writing this lines she must have already reached Lothlorien, must have been welcomed by her parents and by her friends. Do they know that it will most likely be the last time they will welcome her in the Golden Wood? Do they share my fear to never see her smile again, never hear her laughter?

Before she left I begged her to be allowed to accompany her but both she and Elrond refused my request, both not wanting me to seek my own death. I have been seeking death for more than two millennia, I sought danger and battles, hoping to bring an end to this existence I call my life – yet in no battle was I wounded and those who care for me ask for promises that prevent my death. Even during the "Last Alliance" was I one of the few who didn't even receive as much as a scratch – and I was without a doubt the one with the least experience on the whole battle-field. So what kept me alive on that day? Was it the love I had seen in the eyes of my grandfather when he had looked at me? Was it his wish that I should survive? Or was it my thirst for revenge? That never-ending thirst to revenge my death, my murder. Will I be able to die as soon as I have revenged myself – or as soon as I have given up on revenge?

When I started this journal nearly a whole century ago I thrived to fill it chronological with the events of my life, yet the more I write the more I ...feel that I am not yet ready to write everything down that has happened to me during my life. Surprisingly it is easier for me to write about my father than about Lareth, my hate for my father, my murderer is less painful than my love for my son. If forgiving my father allowed me even one more glance, one more smile or word from Lareth I would gladly forgive him. Yet even writing of Lareth is easier than to even remember her, the one girl I loved and was yet forbidden to love.

She was the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes upon, yes even Arwen, the Evenstar of my people seems to dimish in light of her memory. Objective I have to concede that Arwen is more beautiful – how could she not being of the blood of the Eldar while she was a "mere mortal". The moments I had laid my eyes upon her when she was mere hours old I knew that I had found love and the older she grew the more I desired her, loved her...

She was not even six when her great grandfather died in my arms, wrenching the promise from me not to die in grief over a member of his family, not knowing what that promise meant for me. But how could I deny my son his dying-wish? How could I, who had never loved anyone but my son know that my love to her would grow even stronger over the years? I have no doubt that I was never more than Uncle Carnil for her. No-one knew of my love to her, no-one knew that my heart would have broken the day she wed another and later when she died if it hadn't been for the promise I gave Lareth.

Árawen...just the thought of her, just writing her name allows her image to rise before my eyes, telling my heart that I have still a chance to win her heart – only to allow my mind to remind me over and over again that she has long ago passed away, just like her great grandfather my son Lareth. Still even writing these lines I can not stop myself to raise my eyes to look around and for her lithe form. I know that it is just a memory of a similar scene that is playing itself out before me, that she never was here in these halls, this valley – and yet I see her standing there by the tall windows, her brown hair braided in a long, thick braid that is falling down her back. I still hear her laugh that sounds in my memory even more like small bells than it did when she actually laughed, her green eyes, so much like my own, sparkling with mirth, her arms cradling her sides from to much laughing. She is wearing a dress she had just finished sewing, she was better at sewing than anyone I had ever known, the skirt a dark green while the blouse was slightly lighter in colour.

I remember when this memory happened, it was just weeks before her wedding and I wanted to do nothing more than to tell her how I felt for her and beg her to marry me instead – yet I kept silent, knowing that such a confession from me would only break her heart. She loved her husband as much as I loved her and me she loved as an uncle or even a grandfather. I would have destroyed the friendship we had if I had spoken of my love to her, if I had shown her that she was anything different than my favourite granddaughter. The years of her life passed to quick for me, yet at the same time every moment I saw her, thought of her passed agonisingly slow. It was tearing at my heart, at my very soul to see her the last few years of her life grieving having lost her beloved husband to a severe case of pneumonia. How I wished to be able to spend her comfort during those years but even when she was smiling her heart was slowly breaking. Long before she passed away I could feel her end. It was the last afternoon of the year when she drew her final breath, her hair no longer brown but white, creating a startling contrast to her dark almost black dress.

Even in death she was the most beautiful maiden, woman I have encountered to this day.

It was shortly after the death of her husband that she asked me why I was not married and I told her that the girl that held my heart had given hers to someone else and that I was not able to love someone else but her. She had told me that she was sure that every girl would want me to find happiness with someone else – at least that would be what she would want. Did she guess that she was the one who held my heart or did she really speak in the believe that I loved someone unknown o her? Do I only cling to her memory so much because I fear the pain a new love would undoubtedly bring me?

For years nearly all of Imladris has tried to convince Arwen and me that we are perfect for each other and I believe that Arwen was willing to follow the suggestion of her family and friends... was it my fear that held me back or was Árawen really the one I was meant for, was she really the only girl I could ever love? But even if there was a chance for me to find love in someone else would it be fair to her? Would it be fair to fall in love and encourage someone to love me when I know that I will leave this world soon. Would it be fair to condemn someone to the same heartache I have felt when Árawen died? Wouldn't that make me even worse than my father? Or would I be able to give up on my revenge to spare her the pain of my death?

Often when I look at Arwen I can see my love in her, the same gentleness, the same stubbornness... but sometimes when I look at Celebrien's daughter I see her with small children, her children of that I am sure, looking down at them or playing with them. The eyes of the small girl are what fascinates me most, so much like Celebrien's and Arwen's, a startling blue. The eyes of the other child – a boy - are grey and I am sure that it is the grey of his fathers eyes and not Elronds. Yet Arwen eyes are no longer as clear and carefree in those visions as they are when I am looking at her in these days. Her eyes betray pain, anguish even and longing – for what I can not say but no matter how happy she may look in these visions I know that her heart is slowly breaking and that there is no halting it even though it will still take years till it finally shatters completely.

Would this look have been absent from her eyes if we had followed her families wishes- or would her fate have been worse, caught in a marriage without true love, held together only by obligation and friendship? I care for Arwen deeply, I see in her the sister I never had – and my best friend. Even though her brothers have brought me to this valley, have given me the chance to meet my family do I know that our friendship will soon shatter. I do not know how or when but I know that for years we will be glad when we don't have to be in the others presence. This knowledge saddens me but the certainty that this animosity will not last consoles me – but will it be to late to built friendship after that, will I be already be on me way to execute my revenge?"

* * *

For moments the quill hovered over the page till he finally put it down. It had been years since he had allowed himself to dwell on memories of Árawen, on the love his heart still harboured for her. Startled his left hand went up to his cheek as he felt something run down his face. He was crying, even years after her death he was still crying for his lost love. No-one had ever known of his love for her, no one who had known her was still alive, he was the only one who still carried the memory of her in his mind and even in his very soul; even if there should be ever an other woman in his life he knew that he would continue to love her even when his soul had long entered the Halls of Mandos. But now, now he had ensured that someone would learn of his love, whoever would read this journal would learn of the wonderful great granddaughter of Lareth.

Gracefully Legolas stood up, for the moment not worrying about the tears that were still streaming down his face and walked over to the window where his heart had only moments ago displayed the image of his love. It had been only a few years, not even a complete century since he had followed Elladsn's and Elrohir's invitation to accompany them to their home, yet already did he start to think of this valley as his own home. There was no doubt in his mind that the peace, the tranquillity of Imladris would soon be shattered and he would no longer find peace within its halls. He felt that he would soon start his last journey, the journey that would bring relieve to his heart – and the end of the life he never wanted.

A soft sight escaped his lips, was that really true, did he really not want this life the Valar had gifted him with? Did he really seek death – or was it just peace he desired, peace for his heart and soul and mind. He could not remember a single night he had not woken, his heart filled with terror and anguish a cry for help on his lips, a cry that never left his throat.

Dawn was fast approaching, the rays of light making the candle that stood on his desk next to his journal unnecessary. Dawn, how he loved and hated this part of the day knowing that he would be forever reminded of his love. He had been the one who choose her name, he had been the one who gave her the name dawn-maiden; he had spoken in jest when her parents found that the name they had wanted to give the child when it was a daughter didn't suit the infant so he had proposed to name her after the time she was born, at dawn. Hearing the Quenya form of the name her parents had immediately agreed. Now though he wished to have kept silent.

He did not know how long he had remained in that position, standing before the open window staring out over the valley, the path that led to it and the surrounding forest. At one point the candle on the table had burned down but he had barely noticed in the brighter getting light of the day. When a knock sounded from his door he didn't turn around but invited the person outside absentmindedly into is room knowing that it would be most likely Glorfindel, Arwen or Elrond coming to ask him why he hadn't attended breakfast.

* * *

When he entered the room he found Legolas standing in front off one of the large windows that adorned one wall of the room. Even though the time of breakfast had already past it was still early and only few sunrays were falling directly through the window but those few graced playfully over Legolas red hair. Every time he looked at his wife's youngest cousin he marvelled how much he looked like his mother. Silently he made his way over to his young guest, no he thought, Legolas is no longer a guest, he belongs here just as much as any other. Legolas had not moved since he had entered the room and as he stood next to him he saw that a steady stream of tears was leaking out of the others eyes.

"Legolas, what happened?"

Even while he spoke he could not quench the fear that a new vision was the cause of those tears, had Legolas seen his beloved Celebrian's capture, was everything for his wife lost?

As if hearing the fear, the pain in his hosts words the younger one turned to him and smiled briefly before answering him.

"Nothing I know of happened... I was merely lost in memories..."

Elrond raised an eyebrow at that answer; he had seen the thick book – a journal he believed – lying open on the small desk that stood on one side of the room. During the years he had known Legolas he had often found him writing in that book but never had he seen him dissolved in tears so what was different from all those other times he wrote in it.

"You were writing."

He stated after a few moments of silence in which Legolas had turned his face once again to the window.

"What thoughts or memories brought tears to your eyes, little one?"

"I thought of my son ... and Árawen..."

Árawen? That was the first time he heard Legolas mention that name but whoever she was she brought grief to Thranduils youngest. Also Legolas had never spoken to him of a son, what other secrets did the Greenleaf harbour?

"I didn't know that you were married and had a son..."

Soft laughter interrupted his words and a sad smile was flickering around the younger elf's mouth when he had stopped laughing:

"No, Lareth was not my son – at least not in blood ... and Árawen... no, Árawen was never my wife, she was Lareths great granddaughter and I had promised him at his death bed that I would not fade over a member of his family, yet I could not have continued if I had bound myself to her... No, she never knew me as anything else than her uncle."

Legolas voice had grown bitter and resigned while he spoke, his pain evident in every single word he spoke.

"I must apologise, Legolas, I should have never attempted to see Arwen as more than a friend or a sister..."

Even though he had known Legolas now for nearly a century he was still startled when the younger ones eyes were staring in his own, their green brighter than normal if because of the tears that were still gathering in them or for other reasons he did not know.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Elrond, but even if my heart didn't already have found a home Arwen and I could have never been more for each other than brother and sister: the love of Luthien was never meant for one of the Eldar."

A sight escaped Elrond at these words,

"So you know of her fate, I had hoped that you could prevent it, that you could capture her heart before she chose her ancestors fate..."


	11. Celebrien

**Chapter 11**

He had prayed that it would not be himself who had the vision of the escorts' slaughter, but even more had he prayed that it would not be Elrond who had to see the torture of his wife and the slaughter of his men. Yet none of this prayers were answered.Though while Elrond fell unconscious he was able to shake the disturbing, cruel and painful pictures off as he had seen them before. Soft hands caressed his face as he was able to clear his vision.

"What did you see, Carnil? What did you and ada see?"

Not answering her question Carnil stood slowly up: "I need a horse Arwen, I have to leave as soon as possible…"

Even before he had been able to take one step towards the door Elladan's voice stopped him. Harsher than he had ever before heard his friend speak:

"You will go nowhere as long as you have not told us what you have seen! Ada was always fine after a vision so what did this vision show you and why did both of you receive it?"

For a faint moment Carnil felt fear as he turned to look at his friend. _He will revenge Celebrian, he will revenge his mother. – Just like my father revenged my mother. Who will Elladan kill to get his revenge? It will not be his brother or sister or aunt Galadriel or uncle Celeborn…but myself? I am nothing to him and he knows that I had a vision not soon after I came here, what will it take him to realise that it was the same vision?_

Trying to clear his head from those dreadful thoughts Carnil shook his head. His own voice was soft and barely audiable as he answered his cousin's oldest child.

"Your mothers travelling-company was surprised by a host of orcs, all but her were slaughtered and Celebrian…" he was not able to carry on, only Arwen's fearful gasp made him continue, "Your mother was captured."

Glorfindel was the first who acted at those words, nodding towards the youngest prince of Mirkwood he left the room to ready a horse for him.

"You know where nana is?" it was not a question, not even a statement –no, to his ears it was an accusation filled with loathing, hate even.

"No, I do not know - but I know that I can find her … and that your father can not leave this valley if he is to live!" Not waiting for anyone to speak he left the room, heading first to the halls of healing before he hurried to his own room. He could not go without his weapons and while he would not, could not take Acharn with him he had enough knifes to use.

* * *

Even before he had felt Elladan and Elrohir behind him had he known that this would be the last time for a very long while, forever maybe that they would ride or do something together. They would hate him, fear him but most of all blame him. And yet he could almost understand them. How could he not? He had seen, felt, endured that hate before – and like then he felt that somehow he was justly blamed. He had known what would befall Celebrian should she not remain within the beautiful valley her husband had created – and while he had not known that his mother would die giving birth to him, it had been his birth that caused her death.

* * *

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir knew any longer what they should make of their friend. When they had first met them in Gondor they had known that it would be the right thing to do, to invite him to accompany them back to Imladris. They had felt that they could trust him, had known that he wouldn't betray their trust. Yet the longer the they knew him, no, not the longer they knew him but as soon as they got to know him they noticed that he was not whom they believed him to be. He was not like any other elf they knew and yet all except for them seemed to accept that without any questions. Nearly from the moment their parents and Lord Glorfindel had met their guest had they started to treat him like family. Even their grandfather behaved as if he knew the stranger – or at least knew who he was, while they knew almost nothing of their guest. They could not say that they disliked Carnil or even what about him it was that alienated them; it was just that they both knew that he was hiding something from them. In the past they had chosen to ignore their doubts but now, now that their mothers life was in grave danger did they believe that it had been wrong to ignore these feelings. The way Carnil acted made it clear to them that he knew more about their mother plight than he let on. Could he maybe even have prevented their mothers fate?

They hardly stopped on their way through the wilderness, all three of them knowing that they had not a moment to loose on their search but also that they had no idea where they should look. Already a week had passed since they had left Imladris before they came upon the corpses of the guard. Each of the slaughtered was known to them, to the twins more so than to Carnil, and even though it took precious time away from their search could they not leave their friends unburied. After they had found the place of the battle it was easy to follow the trail the orcs had left, wincing each time they spotted the silver red blood that stemmed from Celebrian, giving them silent testament of her wounds.

* * *

It wasn't hard for him to fall back in old routines, searching for, hunting his prey. He felt the need for revenge, the need to see the blood of those that caused him this pain to be spilled. Twice before had he felt this need, twice before had he given into this desire. The first time on the slopes of Orodruin when he saw his grandfather, the only real connection he had to his family, fall; and the second time when he had become an assassin. For more than twenty years had he sought out the murderers of the stewards daughter in law, had felt the need to hurt them, to torture them and to finally kill them. All because they had dared to try to harm an innocent infant. Now though… now he was hunting for those who dared to come after his family. Celebrian was more for him than only a cousin, she was the sister he never had but even more so the mother he longed for. He knew that even if, no when, they found her she would be lost to him, her family and Arda. She would no longer be able to remain, her only choice being between the Halls of Mandos and Valinor. What would be the better choice? Where would she find more peace? He knew that most first born feared the Namos' domain, yet he could not help to long for the peace he had felt during the short time he had been allowed to dwell there. After the panic, the pain his fathers actions had caused him he had be comforted by the calm that he felt it that place. Even though he had not seen much of the resting place as his infant self had not been able to, and had in fact not had the desire to, look around or anywhere else than the person who held his body or rather his soul. For all the years that had passed since than, for all the times he had dwelled on it, he could still not recall Namos face. Knowing only that in those short moments he had loved him the same way he had before his murder loved his father.

Although he longed for a place in the Halls of Mandos he was almost certain that Celebrian wouldn't be able to find the same peace he had found there. She had experienced life, happiness and knew what she would be leaving behind, while he had not really lived by the time he found himself there.

* * *

_# All the way back to Imladris I have felt their hateful glances, their fury – but also their pain. Nothing, nothing I had seen in my visions could have prepared me for actually finding Celebrian tortured almost beyond recognition. How could I allow her sons to see her in such a state when even I, who had seen one of the most gruesome battles, flinched at the mere sight? How could I explain to them that the only reason why their mother allowed me to touch her, to hold her, was because she did not recognise me, didn't see me as myself but as my mother? Would they have believed me if I had told them at that time that she was my cousin, told them at such a time, a century after we had met, that we were family? I know that I wouldn't have believed them, know that it would have fuelled my fury and hate. I know now that my days in the sanctuary of Imladris have come to an end. No longer can I call this village my home, no longer do I find peace within its boundaries._

_Neither Elrond nor Arwen blame me for Celebrians fate, both knowing that I could have done nothing to prevent it. _

_As so often these days I sit besides Celebrian in one of Imladris vast gardens. She is sleeping, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in remembered pain. Elrond sits on her other side, stoking her hair and cherishing every moment he has left with his wife. Not for the first time I feel like an intruder, disturbing their small nest of comfort but I dare not to leave. Once, shortly after we brought Celebrian home, Elrond called me to their rooms, confining that his wife rested more peaceful when I was present. We know both that it is not me she sees in those moments but her beloved aunt, that she is only able to tolerate my presence because in her sleep-fogged mind I become one who often cared for her during her childhood. I can not find joy in those moments in which I am her only comfort, always felling, knowing that even then she fears to be hurt. Both of her sons envy me for those moments, I can understand their feelings, knowing all to well how it is to yearn for a touch from your parents, knowing that others receive it while you don't. Yet at the same time I feel that it would be even more painful for them to fell their mother tremble under your touch, fearing that each hug, each casually placed hand on her arm will be raised to strike her. #_

Soundlessly Legolas closed his journal and stared for moments ahead. He no longer saw the beauty of Imladris, a beauty that was still present even though many of the trees had lost their leaves even though it was still summer. For him, for every occupant of Imladris, its beauty had faded the moment its Lord had the vision of his wife being tortured.

"Celebrian will take the second to last ship that leaves before the winter."

He did not turn around as he heard Elronds words, there was nothing for him to say, nothing he could do to take the pain away that the older elf felt.


	12. The beginning of the end

Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"_Celebrian has started her journey to the Undying Lands. She asked me more than once to come with her, even as Elrond carried her onboard the ship – and each time I have declined. I can not leave Arda till I have avenged myself and even if that were not the case, do I know that I could not find peace in Valinor. Not now and maybe not ever._

_Valinor ,the Elven home, I doubt that it will ever be my home, not as long as my heart yearns for the peace I have only felt in Namos arms. Only trice after that have I been able to feel as if I belonged somewhere. Trice now has this place or person been ripped away from me. The first time was when I met my grandfather, mere hours before his death, the second when I met Lareth… he was so much more for me than just my foster son, he was for the short time he lived, my home. I never allowed myself to get close enough to any of his descendants, not even Arawen, to feel the same kind of closeness, the same bond that existed between my child and me. _

_And now Celebrian._

_She was my last anchor in this world, the last person that stood between me and my revenge. I doubt that she was aware of this, even I discovered it only after we had returned from the haven. Arwen I know will find happiness in the years to come, not in the next few years but in a few centuries she will find love with a mortal and settle in a place I had called my home for many years, Minas Tirith. Her brothers, I do not know how Elladan and Elrohir will spend their days, yet I do know that they will never stop hunting those who were responsible for their mothers plight. Someday Elrond will follow his beloved Celebrian and most of Imladris will sail with him – but that time has yet to come."_

* * *

No, Elronds time was not yet over, wouldn't be for some more years, a few centuries perhaps, but his own time was coming to an end. He could feel it, the weariness that prevented him more than ever before to find rest. The anniversary of that faithful day was once again drawing close, two more years and he would exact his revenge; two more years and he would be free. Looking around Legolas asked himself if he regretted following the twins to Imladris all those years ago. Did he regret meeting his cousin, her husband and her children or his uncle? Did he regret meeting Lord Glorfindel? Certainly not, still… Before he had come to this peaceful valley he had nothing left in Arda, no one he regretted to leave behind for he did not know his brothers and would certainly not miss his father. Now though he had family, family he was preparing to leave behind him – with the knowledge that he had murdered his own father. Would they hate him or would they understand. Would they be able to understand the hate, the pain he had felt all these years?

For years now he had felt his own life slipping like water through his fingers – like water or like blood. Why did he feel that way, was it just because he knew that the time was near that he could finally rest or was it something else. When Celebrian had asked him to accompany her to Valinor he had hesitated. Was it possible for him to find peace without confronting him who had destroyed his life, without taking revenge? Would he be even welcomed in the Elven Home? It was this fear, the fear not to be allowed to enter the Blessed Realm that he declined his cousins invitation. For if he was denied entrance so would be all those with him.

"There you are, Carnil. We haven't seen much of you in the last years – or before that."

Startled Legolas looked up as he heard Elladan address him. He had heard neither Elladan nor Elrohir walk up to him. Cursing himself for his inattentiveness Legolas closed his journal, hoping that it would not be read before he had long since left. Now that he was aware of their presence he could feel the dark thoughts both twins were projecting to him. Where once had been curiosity and friendship was now only distrust, hate even. For years now had he known that it would come to this, that he would loose the trust of these two, yet now that the time had come it hurt more than he had imagined, had feared that it would.

"Elladan, Elrohir…"

Unsure how to continue he fell silent. What was there for him to say? Nothing from his mouth would reduce the negative feelings they now held for him. They were his family but while he knew this they were uninformed of that fact as he had wished them to be.

Looking at them he knew with a sudden clarity that he would leave ere the winter came.

"What can I do for you?"

He asked after a while, knowing that nothing he could do or say would change how they now felt about him. Maybe in the future when he had long since passed from Arda would they learn who he was and would be able to forgive him.

* * *

It had been easier than he had expected to leave the Last Homely House, as he left most of his belongings behind. He would only have a few hours of the night to get as far away from the valley as he could, only a few hours before either Elrond or Glorfindel would discover him missing. He had taken with him only what he absolutely needed, nothing more, knowing that every unnecessary burden would slow him down allowing his pursuers to come closer or even capture him.

He knew that they were not his enemies that he didn't have to flee them – yet what else was left for him to do? He could no longer stay in Imladris, he could also not flee to Lothlorien or any other place in Arda, no, the only place left for him to go to was Mirkwood. The one place where his journey had started – and where it would soon end. Till he had fulfilled this mission, his last mission he would have to see everyone who could stop him as his enemy, only that way he could hope to reach his goal.

When he had first arrived in Imladris all those years ago he had carefully studied every of Arda his cousin in law possessed, wanting to learn not only where he had already travelled in the years he had lived, but also to be able to leave as easily as possible. He had known from beginning that he would not be saying farewell to his family that he would not be able to do so but would have instead to flee like a common thief.

The way he had chosen for himself was not the easiest or the most direct, far from it, but it was a way that led him to places he had spent parts of his life at. First he would travel alongside the Misty Mountains before crossing them slightly north of Fangorn forest. While certainly not the easiest route it was the one where he would be least likely to be discovered. From there he would follow the Celebrant to Gondor before crossing it and turning north-east to Rhun. Whatever time he had left he would then spend in the land of his childhood and youth. Only when he had no more then a few weeks left would he continue his journey to Mirkwood, striving to arrive in his fathers realm, in his fathers chambers, on the anniversary of his birth and his first death.


	13. Uncertain endings

**Never opened myself this way**

**Chapter 13: Uncertain endings**

Legolas shivered slightly in the cold air of the night. Too many years had passed in the comfort of Elrond's house, too many years where not only his body was warmed by the fires of Imladris but also his soul by the comfort of family and friends.

Now he had neither.

Several weeks had passed since he had fled yet still did he not dare to light a fire. He knew not if he was being pursued. If Elrond had sent someone after him or if Elladan and Elrohir saw his escape as a further proof of his culpability in their mothers passing and were even in that moment hunting him down to take their revenge. If they were he could not fault them, even though he was in no way at fault. He knew what it meant to be driven by the thirst for revenge; nearly his whole life had been dominated by this fatal thirst.

Physically it had been easy to leave Imladris and its inhabitants behind – but emotional it had been nearly as hard as burying first his son and then years later the woman he loved.

The faces and voices of those he had left only weeks before behind would hound him for the rest of his life. He did not know if he would ever see them on those shores again, did not know if he would see them once he left his life behind.

Were kin-slayers, worse yet father-murderers, even allowed entrance into Namos halls?

Sometimes he wished to be able to set the need, the thirst aside, to be able to settle down somewhere with a woman he loved and fade in to obscurity. If he tried hard enough he could imagine such a future: himself working once again in a smithy, a beautiful woman, his wife, watching him smiling while fussing over a toddler with faintly pointed ears, their child. Yet even as he watched the woman, so like and at the same time so unlike his dear Arawen, other images settled above his idyllic made up family.

Dark skies, without the sun or moon or any star as far as his eyes could see. The only sources of light, glowing terrible in the unnatural oppressing darkness were a glowing, fire-rimmed lidless eye and a mountain he had seen centuries before, Mount Orodruin. He was riding together with an edain, a wizard and – strangely enough – a dwarf who was sharing his horse, at the head of an army towards what he knew was Mordor. However it was neither the army or that they were marching against Mordor or Sauron or even the fact that he was sharing a horse with a dwarf that captivated him. He had seen the grey eyes of the edain before: Arwen's son would have those same grey eyes, the same shade and shape. So that was Arwen's future husband who was riding with him – or rather he himself was riding with this man – to wage war on the fallen Istari.

Around the edain's neck he saw a jewel that he knew belonged to Arwen. A jewel he had forged to give to his beloved Arawen on her wedding day but one that had despites his plans never left his possession till one day he had followed an impulse and had gifted it to Arwen.

Frowning Legolas shook his head clear of the vision, the first one since he had fled Elronds house. No matter how much he had tried he had –till then – not been able to see glimpses of his own future after the moment he entered his father's throne room and now that he saw something he knew that it would not, could not come to pass. Once again he tried to see the fate of his brothers – and of his father – and once again he saw nothing.

Without seeing the world around him he stared into the night, wondering if this lack of visions was a mercy or a punishment. On some days he desperately wished to see how his brothers fared; those same brothers who had loved him so fiercely before he was born. Did they still love him, whose birth had taken their mother from them or did they view him with the same hatred his father viewed him with, did they also see him as her murderer?

It would be so easy for him to hate them just as much as his father, or rather be indifferent to them and their feelings. And yet… if he could be sure that his brother still loved him would he be able to take their father from them? A father whose guilt they were unaware of and whom they loved?

He knew that he could not forsake his revenge. The thought, the wish, the need to avenge his death had been most of his life the one thing that kept him from giving up. Ever since Acharn had been completed he had to stop himself from taking it up and strike at himself. Only the knowledge that no-one but he himself could avenge his murder had stopped him all those times when his sword called to him for his own blood.

Absentmindedly Legolas trailed a hand over the bark of the tree he was resting in. He was tired, both in body and in mind. Ever since he had left Imladris he had not dared to sleep and slowly his constant watchfulness and lack of rest was causing him to become inattentive to his surroundings. Still there was no possibility for him to forget that not far from the place he had chosen to rest lay the place where his cousin had been captured and her guard murdered. For a few moments he had entertained the thought of visiting that horrible place for a last time – but in the end he had decided against it. There was nothing but painful memories for him on that particular path.

* * *

He had felt the moment something changed in the air, had felt the moment something shifted, something went missing – yet he had not immediately known what had changed. Only hours later when Legolas had – as so often – not turned up for the morning meal and he had searched for him in his rooms and found them empty had he known what had changed.

Legolas had left them.

His first impulse had been to go after him, to search for him and bring him back to his valley where he was safe but then he had allowed his mind to replay the last few months of Legolas stay and he realized with shock that he was not surprised at the younger elves departure. No, if he was honest with himself he had expected such a move for some time, ever since that fateful day Legolas had had that terrible vision of his beloved Celebrians capture. For the first few weeks, months even, had he watched the young one, ready to stop him from leaving but over time his worry had lessened till he had grown complacence and had concentrated on the time he had left with his beloved wife. Years passed without Legolas giving any indication of even thinking of leaving and he had put his fears aside till he forgot them – and now they had come to pass without him noticing till it was already too late.

No, he decided with a heavy heart as he slid his hand over his absent guests bed, he would not go after Legolas and he would also refrain from sending anyone else. He would keep this room just as Legolas had left it, hoping against better judgment that its inhabitant would soon return and tell no one of his worries. It was, he knew not his place. Slowly he walked over to the desk and opening the drawer he was not sure if he was surprised to still find the book that he had so often found Legolas writing in or if he should have expected to find it left behind. Caressing the soft worn leather with his fingers Elrond resisted his curiosity to take it out and finally learn just what it was Legolas had so diligently written. Just as his fingers closed around the book he knew that it was not yet time, that he had not yet the right to read the secrets it harbored. Maybe it would take weeks or even years before he would be able to bring himself to read the book to bring himself to confirm what he feared it contained. Till then he would take it with him to safeguard it in his study where no-one would dare to read it without his permission.

Elrond did not even look for the magnificent sword he knew Legolas possessed, he knew that he would not find it among the others belongings that could still be seen around the room.

With a last look around the room Elrond left it, softly closing the door behind himself, the thick book securely clasped in his right hand. When the time was right he would read it and would see its owner again – but how many years had to pass before then he could not tell.


End file.
